Kingdom of Rust
by Mighty Crouton
Summary: Garrus and Jane 'Foucault' Shepard pass the time despite cultural and language barriers before the Omega-4 Relay Mission. A story about the challenges and rewards of an interspecies friendship.
1. Chess

You do not have to be a pleasant person to be a hero.

In fact, most heroes are very, very, very unpleasant people and do not make decent human beings.

Enjoy.

**KINGDOM OF RUST**

**CHESS  
**

_It takes an ocean of trust if you are going to survive long hours traveling between solar systems.  
Moments between Garrus and Shepard before the Omega 4 Relay mission._

* * *

"You know Commander," Garrus started, his deep voice rattling the interior of his armor. "If you had taken your sweet time running chores, borrowing heat sinks, and shopping instead of recruiting me on Omega ... I might be a dead turian right now. Granted, I'd probably get some rest for a change... Buuut, I'd still be dead."

Traveling between solar systems in deep space often had its drawbacks. Even if the mass effect relays could snap a ship from the Terminus system to the Citadel before you could hum all three minutes of Thessia's universally loved pop song 'Bop Blue Booty', the flights to outlier solar systems frequently took hours. The time before arrival often bred anxiety on the Normandy, especially with dreams of the collectors haunting the crew. So to stave off boredom, the crew spent their attention on mundane and less exciting tasks. The mess sergeant started to experiment on alien dishes with ingredients that didn't quite match up, calling it 'Fusion Cuisine' as if the nasty mixture's taste improved with lofty titles. Samara spent long hours in the observation room, meditating and frequently ignoring the commander's inquiries. Grunt and Jack had torn up the lower decks, attempting to fight in close quarters in an unending war to prove who was the better fighter (though Shepard quickly put a stop to these brawls after they knocked EDI's comm link offline by accident. The accident almost killed an unsuspecting engineering crew, who were participating in a private poetry club when the hull very nearly opened into space).

Even Garrus, patient, calm, collected, easy to please Garrus was beginning to bore himself studying the Normandy's weapon calibration systems.

Truth be told, he had studied the damn thing so acutely he was starting to name off numbers and canon statistics faster than EDI was able to retrieve the information.

He would know.

He tested EDI recently.

Despite how boring calibrations were, Garrus stubbornly fixed himself to the mundane task. It was his form of meditation, and an excellent excuse to be anti-social. With nothing to do, most of the crew members resorted to sleeping, exercising, researching, or meditating. Thankfully, Garrus's idea of meditating was calibrating in silence.

Perhaps feeding off of the crew's anxiety and frustrations, Commander Foucault Shepard tried buying her time by spending several hours mostly intimidating the crew. Often, she'd walk by, proceed to start a conversation, then end it abruptly by telling each person to stop wasting their time and to do something useful for the mission. And like the true hypocrite Shepard frequently was, she'd proceed to waste her own time by drinking with Doctor Chakwas, or asking for crew background checks, or picking her nails while Zaeed (A former Blue Suns merc that Garrus did not like very much) went on and on and on telling long winded stories that frequently resulted in how he survived after someone else died.

Though, lately, nerves buzzed on high static after the Salarian, Dr. Mordin Solus, started to tear apart the Reaper IFF. Maybe Shepard's reason for kicking back and doing unimportant shit was just to relax her own nerves. Or maybe she really was just a hypocrite. That's what the crew always wondered.

But truthfully, Garrus knew that Shepard was waiting for Dr. Mordin to decipher the Reaper IFF, the final piece of the Omega 4 puzzle.

He knew it. But he didn't say anything, unlike every other damn crew member who always did their damndest to talk to Shepard. About anything. Including the weather.. or Reaper IFFs.

Maybe that's why Foucault decided to spend some of her time hiding away from the crew. Maybe that's why Shepard would meet Garrus, pull him away from his station, sit down in his quarters and teach him how to play a human game she called 'Chess'. You know, just... biding time. Not that he minded. It was that or calibrating, and he was sick of callibrating weapons systems.

When it came to chess, the rules were simple yet the strategies behind the human game were complex. Garrus Vakarian was surprised that humans were capable of creating such a universally appealing war game. Within a few days of practice, the turian applied his strategic insight across the board and even started to challenge the commander on equal tier.

Garrus started to love chess. The game satisfied his turian sensibilities. If he survived this Omega 4 relay mission, he imagined teaching his sister how to play and perhaps he would market the game to other family members. Vakarian had an odd feeling chess would catch on very quickly among his people.

"You know Commander," Garrus started, his deep voice rattling the interior of his armor. "If you had taken your sweet time running chores, borrowing heat sinks, and shopping instead of recruiting me on Omega ... I might be a dead turian right now. Granted, I'd probably get some rest for a change... Buuut, I'd still be dead."

"Right. Because taking the time to save your sorry rogue ass was on the top of my priority list," Foucault Shepard muttered bitterly, pushing her pawn one space up to block an attack on her queen.

Officer Vakarian smiled, relaxing his side cheek plates as his nostrils flared slightly.

Commander Shepard raised her brows in response, pursing her lips and flicking her wrist.

Spending long hours together on battle and in private started to expose body language unique between Garrus and Shepard. The turian noticed he began to exhibit some strange habits, such as facial mimicry specific to human emotion. For one, turians do not smile with their faces like humans do. Typically, when a turian expresses some pleasure or joy, they push their weight onto their toes and step backward while turning their heads, creating a low rattle few species can detect audibly. These days however, Garrus started to notice he would relax his mandibles and reveal his teeth, mimicking a human grin - or what he thought was a human grin. Likewise, Shepard borrowed a few turian language cues. The human lacked important physical features like cheek plates or an exoskeleton, so she often exaggerated her movement and puffed her cheeks to get certain points across. Then again, as the Commander was spending more time with aliens, Garrus noticed she was beginning to adopt a wide field of expressions that were not just specifically turian.

When Shepard was feeling sick or tired, her posture would stiffen and she would shift her weight backwards like the quarians.

When flustered, the commander's words picked up pace and her head tilted, uniquely salarian.

And when she was pissed off.. well... there was a reason why she was known among krogans as 'Urdnot Shepard'.

The thought of Shepard insulting a blood pack gang member by whip lashing her head into the krogan's chest forced an untimely chuckle.

"You think its funny, Garrus?" Shepard growled. "I risked the entire goddamn galaxy to pull your stupid hard tinned plate out of a deadly three-way mercenary zone. And you find that amusing?"

The turian reposed, and wisely decided not to inform the human why he actually laughed.

But seriously, the state of her neck and head injuries after she decided that hitting a living boulder with her head was a brilliant idea... It was a laugh.

"No no no, not at all Shepard," Garrus began, his rasped words turning pleasant.

"To be frank with you," Officer Vakarian coughed, drawing a deep breath through his nostrils and rattling his chest. "I never planned on an exit strategy at Omega." Three fingers delicately plucked the pawn from place, pushing his bishop face to face with the commander's ebony queen.

Sharp, luminescent eyes peered up, amused at Shepard's sudden impression of his game tactic. Her face was cold, her lips were thin, a wall of ice had suddenly swallowed her expressionless. Shepard was either winning or losing, and Garrus could only play the same damn poker face in retaliation. Which was becoming harder, since his commander was having an easier time detecting turian expressions and vice versa. Chess had become more and more interesting with each play - they frequently paid attention to each other more than the game itself. As if attempting to read the other's mind by deciphering subtle body motions. Was she forcing a turian expression? Was it sincere? Did Garrus mean to grin like a human? Or is he grinning intentionally like a turian, because he knows that Shepard is capable of reading his natural body language? It was a game on many levels.

"What are you talking about?" Shepard muttered, glaring at the chess pieces, grey eyes flickering constantly between the carved blocks. Her gaze bore into Garrus' face, pausing as they searched his stoic expression before returning to the game.

Thumbing the board, the Commander went on the defense and pulled the Queen backward, exposing Garrus' rook to the brutalities of a bishop. Well then, she may win again it seems.

Garrus' strategy was to remain on the offense, reading the board in a way unique to turians, even going as so far to rename the pieces individually. When Shepard explained why humans simplified the game's terminology by naming each piece after a symbol of archaic human power (Queen, King, Knight, Rook, Bishop, Pawn), the turian simply could not wrap his head around those titles. At least, from his perspective as a turian, each individual chess piece served a very specific function in the game regardless of whether or not they were shaped the same way. For example: The rook that seated on the king's side served a different purpose than the rook on the queen's side. And pawns... Why did the humans choose to name all eight of the blocking pieces 'pawns'? Especially since the pawn in front of the king held such a vital role. If that piece did not move, then the queen and the king's bishop would remain stationary. Garrus tried to explain this to Shepard, and attempted to convince her that they rename the pieces by turian military rank (Chot, Chilker, Farit, Forit, or at least sixteen uniquely named roles as opposed to all three hundred sixty one). She wouldn't have it, stating simply that it was a human game that was entitled to stick by its own rules and that Garrus was insulting her species by trying to change the names. He relented, but privately renamed the pieces anyways.

Back in the game, the turian swiftly collected the Queen's Knight (Chot) and knocked over her bishop (Farit). It was a foolish play lacking persuasion or afterthought, but Garrus was getting somewhere here. He was inching towards progress. And he knew he was winning when Shepard flinched. It really didn't matter if this conversation or if the game were etching at the woman's cold exterior, either way he knew today he would be marked as champion of chess or discussion.

"You really think that I intended on surviving that day, Shepard?" The turian sighed, another human expression. "I maybe in over my head at times, but I'm not stupid. Aggressive, yes. Stupid? No. Never."

"Then why." The room bellied in tension at those words, human eyes trained on turian pupils. The chess game was momentarily ignored for an exchange of words.

Well, now Garrus knew was sure he was winning both at chess and the conversation.

"Why did you do it? Answer me straight, 'Archangel'. Why the hell did you think throwing your life away to knock some mercenary brains against the wall was the best idea in the whole goddamn world? For someone who claims cleverness, THAT was very, very stupid," Shepard concluded briskly.

Patience was a blessing, a trait Garrus was well known for. The commander's short temper was reflected back by Vakarian's peaceful sensibilities. He smiled, unconsciously reflecting human emotions of sincerity as best a turian could. Looking down at the board briefly, his expression reduced itself to something a bit more awkward.

"It is hard to tell but.." He muttered uncomfortably, his thick plated skin bristling with nerves. Aw hell, his game methods were going to space now.

"Try." Shepard snapped bluntly, crossing both arms under her breasts as her glare penetrated an off turned glance.

Garrus took a deep breath, and finally gained the nerve to swallow the intensity of his commander's gaze. Fire, anger, and malice met something that was certainly pathetic in comparison. Typically turians did not know how to express sincerity. Bluntness, yes. Sincerity? That was a human emotion, and one Garrus had to adopt in order to cross the bridge between their species. "Because dammit, after you died I had nothing left."

A brutal silence followed the surprising confession. Shepard's gaze unwavered. His sincerity became something more passionate, unconsciously expressing himself in a more turian like matter. Behaving 'human' was becoming tiresome, even if it was for the sake of communication.

"Nothing. I lost my ship, my crew, my hopes, and my dreams within two years," Garrus voice fell into lower registers, producing a buzzing noise in his chest plate that expressed a complex emotion akin to human sadness-despair-confession-forgiveness-growing-impatience, "I suddenly didn't care about my spectre dreams. I didn't care about anything. I tried to care, Shepard. I gave it my best shot."

Garrus' jaw snapped as his emotions shifted. He had been patient and calm for a long time, but Shepard's repeated visits, the completion of his loyalty mission, and the acceptance of the suicide mission started to rattle his inner sense of peace. "I tried again. I followed your example, I even created my own crew. But I got careless, I saw them torn down and ruined by Sidonis. They were tortured and murdered, and I was entirely to blame. I was a horrible leader."

"Garrus.." Shepard warned.

"It dawned on me, Shepard," Garrus continued, ignoring his commander's warning. "It dawned on me that it wasn't just Sidonis who killed my men." Garrus dropped his head, teeth biting the following words. "It was my lack of focus, my lack of integrity, my inability to see a rat for what it was. I might as well just have handed Sidonis the murder weapon and lined my men up for the shot. I was so careless. You see, I ruined the lives of my team mates because I could NOT stay focused. Because, while I looked up to you, ultimately.. I wasn't you."

"Garrus, we have been over this." The commander muttered, brows knit in frustration. "What have I told you? What have I always told everyone? Keep your personal life separate from your professional activities. You fuck up wars if you get to close to people-"

"Shepard, for god's sake, let me finish." The turian interrupted suddenly, sending the woman backward in pause. Speaking out of turn surprised Garrus, the low hum buzzing in his chest suddenly silenced. Instead of reprimanding him (as Garrus expected), Shepard instead remained calm. One hand placed over the other, coolly watching the turian from across the chess board. She shifted her weight, dropping her shoulder as her jaw tensed and nostrils flared slightly. It was a strange, unconscious gesture that Garrus had never seen a human borrow before, one very specific to turians, and an expression she must have unknowingly copied from him. It suggested subordination, as if saying 'I am listening, I shall be silent, and I value your words'.

Collecting himself for a moment, Garrus cleared his throat. "Thank you," He tilted his head, maintaining strong eye contact out of respect as he continued. "I know you told me not to get close, I remember how you reminded me that its easier not to make friends when you may have to command a soldier's death, I know that, I know that, by god I know that. I did nothing but follow in your foot steps, study your principles, your strategies, Your... uhm... friendly disposition, but I made a very serious mistake. I did find a friend... No, more than a friend... I found a partner, a damn good partner, and when my partner died, my focus was decimated just as you warned me. I was like this game. I was this Chess game without a strategy. How could I bare to give a damn about my life after that?"

There was a respectful silence, and then ... "Partner?" Shepard inquired tensely, lifting a brow.

"Yes, my partner. When my partner died, I was.. essentially.. worthless."

His brief explanation did little to answer Shepard's inquiry. She repeated herself in a different direction, "You never told me you had a partner. Who was it?"

Garrus rolled his eyes - exceptionally human like, but it had to be expressed to avoid further miscommunication between them. Either Shepard was playing coy or Garrus really didn't know how to effectively talk to humans without being outright blunt. "You. You. Of course you."

Slightly out of breath, Garrus stirred a bit with eyes fixed on the woman in front of him. There. He said it. He confessed, and Shepard's lapse of silence merely reinforced Garrus' feelings. Now was the best time to reveal them.

"You brought me up," Vakarian confessed, slowly and methodically. "You gave me purpose. I have followed in your footsteps since the day you delivered me from C-Sec. I tried to behave less turian. I tried to adopt your personal human beliefs of keeping people at arms length, even comrades. I thought I achieved your principles, but when you were killed, I... lost direction. In my attempt to keep distant, I inadvertently felt close to you." Garrus' head shook. "I am no leader, Commander, but I do follow. I was prepared to die with honor on Omega doing what I do best. And just as I was about to end my life, you crashed into the wake. My purpose for living returned and the funeral was canceled. I still feel sorry for some of the invited guests who expected flowers and got napalm to the face... but never mind that."

"..." The commander's lips narrowed. Garrus knew she disliked personal confessions. He knew she walked away from 'personal bullshit' when she could. He always assumed that maybe too many people died in her life for her to get close. But Shepard's reception of his words concreted an important underlying fact: no matter the distance Shepard tried to create, Garrus - for whatever reason - was able to bridge it.

Even if it meant tricking her.

"You baited me," Shepard started, glaring in accusation. "You have been waiting to confess this to me since we picked you up."

"No, no. Not until you helped me kill Sidonis, but I'll give you some credit for close guess work," Garrus shrugged.

The commander rolled her eyes, "Whatever."

"Listen Shepard," Garrus whispered seriously. "I didn't bait you. You asked. I only answered your question."

Shepard crossed her arms over her chest and raised a brow speculatively.

"Granted..." Garrus continued. "I've been waiting for a very ... very good opportunity to talk to you about this subject matter... and maybe some baiting was involved but.. that is beyond us. You did ask the question and who am I but to answer to my commanding officer?"

The woman rolled her eyes again. Garrus was certain this was a human signal for nerves, considering Shepard's repetition. He may have to clarify later.

"I've known you too long now, Shepard. You are a strong human with a sharp mind. You've saved galactic life not once.. but twice now. Unlike any other alien I've ever met, you treat everyone.. Regardless of species, gender, or if they are even synthetic life, completely and absolutely equally." Garrus paused to think on this. And then added, "Not.. In the kindest way... but you shoot and insult both equally nonetheless."

"Funny, Garrus. Last I checked, I never punched you through a window like I have a lot of Blue Suns," Shepard retorted.

Shepard's short answer suddenly forced Garrus to smile, mandibles lifted as a small line of sharp teeth peeked behind face plates. "So you admit, Shepard. You do care. At least, enough not to punch me through a window."

"Don't make this personal, Garrus," Shepard warned defiantly. He could sense the human suddenly creating a wall between them after he had worked so hard to open her heart. "Don't do this."

The turian shook his head, the thick scales of his head bristling slightly in an expression of slight impatience akin to his kind. "For someone so quick to avoid personal relations, I find your loyalty to take care of the most mundane tasks the crew requests absolutely stunning," he muttered sarcastically.

Shepard growled, "I need my men happy to complete a mission on the best of terms."

Quickly, one finger raised at the commander's eye level, eyes sharply locked onto her gaze. "It may go unsaid, Shepard. I have allowed it to stay in silence, but admit. At least professionally, that you have and always did rely on me. Do not tell me that these affections are one sided. Not when one of us may die."

"What is this, a beauty pageant Garrus? Do you want me to stand up and tell the world that I love you or some bull shit like that?" Shepard's impatience was stepping over the board. "What will it achieve?"

"Some peace of mind." Words spoken with such ease, Garrus took up the commander on her attitude. "I've lost my sense of idealism a long time ago, Jane. Now be straight with me. I deserve as much."

Shepard was shocked, not by Officer Vakarian's request insomuch as how he asked it. No one on the ship referred to her by her first name, no one except Anderson was allowed the privilege. More often she was 'Commander' or 'Shepard', and closer still 'Foucault' - a nickname she took a liking to two years back when Joker coined her 'A bitchier Michel Foucault with an even greater hate for dumbasses with too much power' (Though, Joker informed Garrus she may have just liked the name because it rhymed with 'Fuck Off').

Further more, turians never regarded their superiors on a first name basis. It was absolutely unheard of. Garrus's culture was based entirely on hierarchy and title, every person (with exception to family) were respectfully called by title, by last name if they were high ranking, or by first name if a superior spoke to an inferior - unless the commanding officer preferred otherwise. Shepard knew this, Garrus obviously knew this. It could be misinterpreted as an insult.

But Garrus wasn't insulting Shepard, and he could tell that this was understood. In fact, he was behaving outside of his culture and adopting a tone and a motion very unique to humans. Desperation is a foreign concept to turians, but not to humans. Garrus adopting human language in that instance, by calling out to Jane. That is what shocked her.

The warm engine hummed a distant rhythm, key partner to the silence that had filled the room. Shepard's eyes dropped as her first name hit the ground, impacting her. One hand rolled over her face, thumb and index finger massaging her eyelids as she spoke above a mutter, breaking the tension. "You a side of me, Garrus. You see a side I don't show anyone else in this tiny little god damn galaxy."

Her voice lowered deeper, almost into a whisper, "I've had to be distant all my life. I made orders to kill people I knew in Torfan. Hell, I made orders that killed a good soldier, a brave soldier, and probably one of the only goddamn people I've actually liked in my short life on Virmire. But people always turn on you. They always do. The alliance completely rejected me, Cerberus is using me, Anderson won't help me, Wrex almost killed me, even Kaiden has shunned me. Everyone I've ever gotten remotely close to has either backstabbed me, used me, or died on me. But for some stupid reason, you have it in your head to keep trying. When I demand, you negotiate. When my ass is on fire, you block the shots. When I get too bitter, you provide humor. You rarely ask anything of me, you choose to keep stupid shit short, you cut to the chase, and goddamn knows that if I needed to get something dirty done, you'd have my back. You've always had my back. Why in the world do you think that I had no problem with the Sidonis kill? No complaint? No need for justification? No argument? Because I owed you, and I respect you even if you aren't human. Your a grown up. You can make big grown up decisions. Its not my place to betray you, even if I thought you killing Sidonis was a stupid idea. I wasn't about to turn against you, because you never turned against me."

The spill grounded to a conclusion, the words becoming concise and simple. "And let's be frank. Your the only person I know whose made me wait without pissing me off to the point of punching you, because I respect you have a damn good reason to make me wait. Even if I think you spend too much time doing calibrations and I'm convinced its an excuse to be lazy and skirt work," She coughed, her body tense and uncomfortable as she opened up, "So in short, yeah. I need the support to know what I'm doing is right. Its nice that I have someone whose opinion I value second guess me, offer critical advice. Its nice I actually know someone who is fully capable of keeping me in line without pissing me off. You are a stubborn ass. I keep trying to push you away, and you just keep coming back. I've kind of accepted that you are here to stay, and I'm not minding as much these days. There. I said it. Yes, Garrus. I need you."

There. It is said. Done. Well, as close to being said as a shut off, private, and terribly antisocial Shepard is capable of being done. Garrus knit his fingers together and leaned in, face plates relaxed in a slightly open posture. His gesture was strange, forehead leaning close to hers but keeping a cool distance between them. It was affectionate, but respectful of her boundaries. "Like a partner."

"Like a partner," Shepard echoed bitterly, the revelation making her further uncomfortable and agitated. She watched the turian mannerism, leaning into it unconsciously before quickly standing up to depart, her expression slightly awkward in the light of the moment. Neither could read the other, Garrus had never seen these human expressions before, the fluster and confusion and agitation. On strangers, yes, but not on Shepard. He felt somewhat awkward himself, and tried to mimic Shepard's actions so that they both knew there was some confusion but an understanding between them.

Many people often joked Garrus always seemed so awkward around Shepard. But the turian was convinced he was only as awkward as she was, which was frequent. Well, when they weren't punching the hell out of Mercs or playing chess...

Though Garrus was not one to allow the woman to escape so suddenly. As she stepped backwards towards the door, the turian's voice drew warmth into the room, "So should I write Miranda a letter of apology? Some details concerning the ruse of her position? I do think the poor woman deserves some honesty for a change."

Shepard rolled her eyes and just turned around, back facing Garrus. She agreed with the redirection of words, awkwardness shifting into sarcasm, "Jesus, does anyone actually believe I listen to her advice? Imagine it. Imagine if I'd have taken her words from the start. We'd have a stir crazy quarian, a frozen krogan, and don't let me get started with the possibility of an all out war between the quarians and geth had I not rebooted Legion instead of shipping him off to Cerberus, as Miranda 'brilliantly' suggested. Honestly. Does anyone actually believe she is second-in-command?"

Garrus grinned, shoulders lifted into a shrug, "Miranda does."

The commander scoffed, and stepped outside with her voice rolling out into the air, "Whatever. That doesn't matter on the battlefield soldier. Besides, what's important is one thing and one thing only." A finger snapped up into the air with great drama as she clarified her departing words. "Check. Mate."

The doors shut with a satisfying thud, leaving the turian to dwell on his commander's words. His attention switched back to the chess board, investigating his king's unfortunate situation, trapped between a couple of thoughtless pawns with a queen clearly prepared for the killing blow. He smiled, plucking the elongated piece from its place, fingertips smoothing over the soapstone thoughtfully. "Well, what do you know."

* * *

**Author's Notes ::**

I wish more fic explored alien relationships as they are. They aren't humans wearing funny looking masks. Aliens are made up completely differently, with histories, cultures, backgrounds, and even biology that separates them from being anything like humans with exception to some similarities.

I won't explore all my pet peeves, but this fic is my personal outlet.


	2. Face Paint

**FACE PAINT  
**

_It takes an ocean of trust if you are going to survive long hours traveling between solar systems.  
Moments between Garrus and Shepard before the Omega 4 Relay mission._

* * *

The turian specialist returned from a brief conversation with Dr. Mordin about mission expectations. The salarian scientist was nervous (A rare and frightening thing), and his words snappier than usual as he briefly detailed Garrus about Tuchanka's terrain, fauna, and - more specifically - how the Blood Pack, a Krogan gang, operated within their home world. The salarian doctor's nerves eased as Garrus expressed prior experience with the Blood Pack, sharing details that surprised and even comforted Mordin despite his agitation. "Sometimes I think Shepard has a sick sense of humor," Garrus laughed. "Bringing a turian to accompany a salarian doctor responsible for mutating the genophage."

"Indeed," Mordin responded quickly. "Krogan not keen on salarians nor turians. Hot headed. Angry. Likely we will face the brunt of their attacks while Shepard stays unscathed." It was at this point both specialists shared a smile - an odd one, where both used their lips (or in Garrus's case, his mandibles).

It was then that they both realized... dear spirits. We have been hanging around humans waaay too much lately. Garrus made his excuse to leave the awkward moment quickly, and disappeared back into the elevator.

Garrus Vakarian was in his private quarters, standing in front of a large mirror he had personally installed against the wall. With the exception of a bed and mirror, the room was pretty bare. He rarely used the place unless he needed to rest, preferring to spend countless hours in the Normandy's core or training with Jack in the engine room. Which was rare, since sparring sessions with Jack were becoming more popular among the crew.

For whatever reason, she had to start a waiting list.

Garrus stared at his reflection, studying the fresh scars across the right side of his face. The blue tattoos painted familiar patterns across thick face plates, but were beginning to fade, leaving a dull grey over the metallic exoskeleton. Gingerly, Garrus opened the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out an azure jar of ink. One finger dipped into the open container, testing its consistency. Eyes trained on his reflection, the turian reapplied the paint over the bridge of his nose. He desperately needed a professional to redo his tattoos, but for the time being, this temporary solution would have to do.

Bom bom bom.

"Come in," Garrus replied, brow ridge raised at the interruption.

The door slid open, revealing Commander Shepard who-never-visited-his-quarters-in-the-history-of-the-Normandy-and-why-is-she-here-now?

"Huh," Garrus said, surprised. "That armor is new."

"Not entirely," Shepard replied, rolling her shoulder. Dark maroon plates that dully shined under fluorescent lights replaced her typical grey ware. For whatever reason, some plates were missing. And there was dried turian blood stains across the chest plate. "Wrex gave it to me awhile back. Suppose to reflect the colors of his clan. Thought when we stopped by, I'd pay some respect. He'd probably be able to help us."

The turian nodded, then returned to the mirror, reapplying the ink, "Wrex and I never got along, not until after you died. After that, Wrex and I found some common ground. However, I haven't seen him since.."

"It takes a while to warm up to Wrex. He doesn't tolerate assholes or bullshit, probably why we work well together," Shepard answered. "You'll see him in a few cycles. We're already in the system, just closing in on Tuchanka now."

The human crossed her arms over her chest, "Garrus, I just came by to make sure you were prepared." Her eyes glanced down at the face paint, then back to the turian, "... Maybe you should have put your make up on a while back, instead of... a few clicks before we land?"

He chuckled, dipping another finger into the dark paint, "But that would be against the ritual. Turians always apply their face paint before the eve of battle. The ritual reminds us who we are, where we come from, and the people we stand for."

Garrus drew a long line across his mandible as he spoke gently, "It is done so we may carry these qualities close to our skin. The fresh ink shows respect and preparation."

The commander raised her brow, stepping closer as her gaze shifted from Garrus's profile to his reflection. There was silence as he traced bare fingers over his tattoos, spreading the azure blue under his eye, meeting the bridge of his nose.

"I read on the Alliance's codex that the tattoos are suppose to represent your colony," Shepard started, carefully watching the turian. "That true, or human hogwash?"

Garrus hummed, pausing for a moment as he considered the question, "Its... ah, deeper than that, really. The color, the markings, even the way you paint the strokes across your face represents something completely different. On face value, the tattoos are a symbol of our colony. But... ah, they also express your history. Your character. Your rank."

Shepard shifted her weight, twisting her lip as she evaluated this information, "So... what if a turian changes colonies? Or what if a turian abandons his title, history, and rank and wants to identify with a new one? What happens then?"

"That's a strange question, Commander," Garrus responded quietly, turning his head to watch the woman in full, finishing the ritual.

She merely stared back at him, challenging his inquisitive look, "Answer the question, Vakarian."

The turian sighed, shifting his weight backwards. He placed the ink at the table, pressing both hands at his back as he replied to the human's command, "Indeed. Well, turians who are not tattooed are commonly referred as 'Barefaced'. My culture typically looks down on the barefaced, since it suggests they are hiding a dishonorable past or living in secrecy. We don't believe in deception, and to hide your face is considered incredibly.. ah... worrisome. The only reason you would conceal the colony of your origins is if you committed a disgraceful act."

"I see. But..." Shepard started, leaning her hip into Garrus' night stand. "... Let us say, theoretically, that the turian was born and raised into slavery. And then, let us say, that this turian escaped and came back to the home world, demanding an identity. Or, in the case of two turians from different colonies, how does that couple determine the traditional colony of their child?"

Shepard was asking some very strange questions. He raised both brows thoughtfully, though he did not voice his opinions, "Well, in the highly unlikely case that a turian didn't have an identity or wanted one, or if that child was not born in a colony... which is, again, very highly unlikely, there is a precedent that suggests a turian born into a colony can adopt a Bareface. But this rarely happens, since it tends to destabilize our principles. We are a military society, our rank is typically predetermined by our colonies. So... yeah."

Garrus stood there, somewhat nervous after delivering this information. The human paused, eyes narrowed and gaze turned on her foot. She was weighing the information, and for what purpose, the turian had no idea. Then, as if delivering the answer, Shepard reached for the jar of azure ink and handed it to the turian, "Adopt me into your colony."

"Wh-...What?" Garrus blurted out, mandibles extended and nearly dropping the paint as his body bristled with nerves and surprise. "Commander, I don't kn-"

"Garrus Vakarian, I am your commanding officer. And I request a face," Shepard said seriously, one finger pointing at her nose then back to his. "I request yours. I will not be running around Blank Faced-"

"Bare Faced."

"...Whatever."

"I don't know if this is a wise decision, Commander," Garrus replied calmly, cocking his head to the right in a turian expression of resignation as he dipped a finger into the paint.

Shepard shook her head, pushing back loose threads of dark brown hair behind her ear as she prepared for the marks, "What are you talking about? You told me yourself. You have no one left in this cold hard galaxy except for me. Pity you. And lord knows that the last time we spoke, you tricked me into admitting that I needed you as a friend and partner. You are all talk and no action. You said you have no one left in this whole damn galaxy that gives a shit about you, and when I ask for something simple like a face, you won't give me one."

The commander peered up at Garrus, square in the eye. "You wanna run around and act like me? You claim I'm your moral compass? Your guide? Well, then, I want a face. If you admire me so damn much, then we go by my rules. Don't be daft, Vakarian."

The turian stepped backwards, mandibles slightly drawn open and revealing his teeth as eyes shifted from Shepard's intense gaze to his hands. It was true. He did admire her, and he was quite vocal about how much he admired her. She was pushing his buttons, pushing how far Garrus might go - where his loyalties lay. With family and tradition, or...

Garrus's shoulders slumped, and he moved forward in resignation. One clean hand raised to her chin, a nervous expression meeting Shepard's defiant one. He swallowed carefully, "I.. ah.. Permission to adjust your head, sir?"

The Normandy commander nodded once, "Permission granted. Now stop acting like a nervous school girl and show this tradition to me, Vakarian."

Garrus groaned, the deep rattle vibrating his chest as he gingerly clutched the human female's fleshy jawline, the fingers of his other hand descending slowly over her face. Grey eyes intensely studied him. She did not smile, nor speak, nor respond beyond that stare, making Garrus even more nervous as he worked. Hell. From their proximity, he could even see the glinting red of her cybernetics behind those dark pupils... it was unsettling.

"This pigment of blue.." Garrus started, raising stained fingers between them. "Represents Palaven, homeworld of the turians. More specifically, the coastlines. There is a mineral in that region we crush to create this ink. By wearing the paint, we are wearing our home."

Calmly, the turian draws his thumb over the bridge of Shepard's nose, from left to right in one slow swipe. "Left to Right... West to east. Palaven's sun sets in this direction." He dipped his finger into the ink, pausing as he tried to determine what the human substitute would be for a cheek plate and mandible... Observing his own reflection for reference, Garrus decided to brush the ink over her jaw line, starting under her ear, flicking his middle finger out to paint a Y shape that outlined the bone and stopping at the midway point. He repeated this pattern, gingerly turning her head as he changed leverage. "Two great rivers run from the mainland into the coast, signifying the continent."

Garrus visibly relaxed, his voice reaching deeper recesses as he worked methodically and carefully. He let go of her chin, carefully cleaning his hands with a liquid solution on the stand. "The final step requires concentration," He explained as he dipped his thumbs into the ink. The turian's clean fingers gently cradled Shepard's face, cupping her cheeks as his thumbs rested at the sides of her nostrils. The commander breathed evenly, her glare subsiding as Garrus drew the paint along her nose, stopping at the bridge then sweeping the ink under her eyes. "Where I live, beetles migrate from the capitol to the coasts. They leave husks of their exoskeletons, that we crush with the minerals. They migrate in a swooping line, above the rivers and under the sun... the eyes are suppose to represent the sun and moon, the lines those migratory routes." He paused just at the woman's temples, lifting his thumbs then resting them carefully above the painted horizontal lines. His fingers combed back her hair as his thumbs stayed, locked in place.

"If you were turian, I would have traced your head fringe. But.. you are not, so I had to.. er.. imagine where it would be," Garrus explained carefully.

Shepard nodded once, her gaze softening as she watched the turian from their proximity. It was still deeply unnerving, and the turian didn't have the courage to explain his obvious discomfort to the woman. In his culture, touching the face was reserved for family members and intimate friends. The face reflected history, experience, and the individual. Garrus hadn't touched another's cheek in years, and that was when he last saw his family face to face in goodbye. It was, for lack of better words, a bonding ritual.

Her smaller, multiple appendaged hands braced over his, intelligent grey eyes searching his face. Garrus paused, admiring the fresh blue ink across her face, proud of his handiwork despite her lack of important anatomical parts like fringes, mandibles, and cheek plates.

"So I'm one of your clan now?" Shepard spoke evenly.

Garrus nodded. He combed her hair back a second time then leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers to complete the ritual before stepping away. The commander drew both hands up before he could move, pulling the turian closer and keeping their foreheads in contact.

"What does this mean? I've never seen this before," Shepard asked thoughtfully, peering up at him from their close proximity. "Do turians typically headbutt one another instead of answering simple questions?"

Vakarian snorted, mandibles fluttering under her hands. He pulled away from her grasp, shifting his weight backwards. "I can't say for sure what the equivalent is in human culture. An embrace? Acknowledgement on intimate terms? I don't know," He shook his head, running stained fingers over a cleaning solution and drying them with a towel. "But I have a strange feeling that what was done here has broken many creeds and principles in my colony. And, you maybe the first human to ever be adopted into a turian clan. Though, who knows? The Citadel is pretty cosmopolitan."

Shepard rolled her eyes, waving the acknowledgement aside. She leaned into the mirror, examining the deep blue paint across her face, admiring her reflection. "Can't wait to see the turian councilor on the Citadel in that case. I love ruffling his dim feathers," She touched the drying ink, brow raised thoughtfully. "Thanks, Garrus. This actually means a lot to me."

He mirrored a human expression as he smiled, lifting his mandibles and revealing a line of teeth as he scratched the back of his neck. "You're welcome."

Bouncing on her heels for a moment, the woman turned and patted Garrus' shoulder before she picked up her pace and sauntered towards the exit, "We'll be landing shortly, Vakarian. Put your makeup away and get ready. I get the feeling this might be a tough one."

"Following right after you, Shepard."

"Good," the commander replied curtly. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

**Author's Notes ::**

"Rules are meant to be broken."


	3. Tattoo

**TATTOO  
**

_It takes an ocean of trust if you are going to survive long hours traveling between solar systems.  
Moments between Garrus and Shepard before the Omega 4 Relay mission._

* * *

Garrus had no reason to leave the Normandy's third floor, considering the crew quarters contained a cafeteria, his private room, a bathroom facility, and the core generator. While meetings were held on the second floor, they were primarily conducted without alien input - allowing Garrus to skirt going up there.

Though.. it was getting more and more difficult to remain just on the third floor. Specifically because Cerberus's typical protocol for meetings was something Shepard had been fighting against ever since Miranda kindly reminded the Commander that the collectors were targeting humans, not aliens, therefore any opinion that wasn't a human's had no merit. Namely: Aliens don't get to have any input. EDI informed Garrus that after this slight, Shepard smiled, flipped off the Illusive Man and Miranda with one flick of the middle finger ('Which is like flicking your thumb?' Garrus had to ask EDI at the time), and proceeded to announce the meeting in full on the Normandy's speakers - breaching all levels of confidentiality. It wasn't even an important meeting, as it involved mining resources and probes. Though, it would mark the first of many times Shepard would instigate Miranda and the Illusive Man just to remind them who was in charge.

Shepard had been playing tug-of-war with Cerberus ever since Garrus joined the mission, and people were beginning to put down bets as to who would finally relent - Shepard or The Illusive Man.

Still, Garrus almost always kept to the Normandy's crew deck, and more specifically the core generator, unless Shepard requested assistance or privately discussed strategies away from Cerberus's listening devices. He had no reason to go up to Shepard's private quarters, since both he and the commander were convinced the Illusive Man and Miranda watched her room day in and day out. He tried to avoid the deck, lest Doctor Mordin wrestled him to the ground in order to test a new chemical on his exoskeleton that he'd swear up and down would deflect bullets or inquire after his sexual deviance towards humans (which, Garrus had to admit, was creepy. In Mordin's blind attempt to be chummy, he admitted he too found Shepard attractive - though in a non sexual way. Since then, Garrus avoided the second floor.) When Tali joined, Vakarian did venture into the Cargo deck with greater frequency. He enjoyed teasing the quarian, and had her help him debug and infect the listening devices in his quarters with a virus, so Shepard and Garrus could speak in secrecy about the fight against the Collectors without Cerberus second guessing their methods.

Lately, however, venturing into the cargo deck started to tick on Garrus's nerves. More often than not it had to do with the Normandy's newest recruit, Zaeed Massani. The human's brash, self interested morality at the expense of innocent people grated the turian's sensibilities. The turian was careful to avoid stepping near the mercenary's mess hall, though more often than not the former Blue Suns founder would cross paths with the vigilante then proceed to ask questions about Vakarian's team back in Omega. Thinking he found an ally in his troubles, Garrus was willing to speak openly about the mercs who killed his men, and how he popped off their heads with a single bullet shortly there after. He went on describe their appearances, backgrounds, names, and attachments. Zaeed, on the other hand, would grow quiet, shake his head, and reveal the identity of each murderer. He almost always had some history with the criminals who killed Garrus men, memories that were almost always fond and spoken with some pleasantry by Zaeed.

For that reason, the turian lost his nerve after talking to the human and chose, very politely, to avoid ever leaving the second floor unless absolutely necessary - lest he run into Zaeed, or heaven forbid, the salarian doctor tried to become his drinking buddy... Today was one of those necessary moments. Mordin was very close to unlocking the Reaper's IFF technology, and time was ticking by the minute. The crew's anxieties heightened, many finessing letters to their loved ones, praying incessantly, or religiously occupying themselves with important tasks. Vakarian personally had an important errand in mind, and only one person in the crew carried the tools and knowledge to help him, and that person just so happened to sleep in the Normandy's lower haul.

Garrus' face paint was no longer an appropriate means to maintain his facial marks, so he required Jack's professional help. He knew she kept a small, makeshift tattoo studio in her quarters. He knew this because he watched several crew members share proudly share personal tattoos, citing Jack's impressive skill as an artist. And she was very talented. Garrus was especially impressed with one woman who had her daughter's portrait tattooed across her back - no detail went ignored. For what Jack lacked in social cues, the convict never charged or turned down a crew member when they asked for a tattoo. Maybe that was just Jack's way of reaching out and connecting with people. Garrus could never tell; he had a hard enough time reading the commander. Humans were confusing.

He stepped into the hall way, turning right at the fork as the doors opening with an electronic SCHLINK. Dim red lights led him downstairs, into the engine room. Garrus gingerly followed the stairs to the lower levels, the buzz of a tattoo needle vibrating the air. Hnn. Jack must be working on another crew member. Not surprising, considering the tattoos were becoming more and more trendy as the suicide mission was closing in.

Garrus stepped forward, facing the woman's heavily inked back and obscuring the person occupying her bed as she worked without pause.

"Jack, I don't mean to interrupt," the turian started gently, maintaining a polite distance as he walked around Jack and the other occupant. "But would you do me the favor of..."

Vakarian stopped. Laying flat on Jack's bed was none other than Commander Jane Foucault Shepard, dressed casually in colony leathers. One grey eye glared knives at the turian, fingers clutching the mattress underneath her in tension. For a moment, Garrus wondered why Shepard was so quiet and what in the world she was doing here. Then, suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle fit in place.

Jack bent over the commander's head, her needle tracing a deep azure ink over the fading patterns that the turian himself had applied over the commander's face, not but a few days ago.

The commander was applying _his_ tattoos to _her_ face.

"Shepard?" Garrus inquired, shocked. "What are you doing?"

Jack waved her free hand as she continued to work, interrupting the tension with a level of concentrated ease, "Sorry, Vakarian. Taking an appointment right now. Come back later to Jack's Tattoo Parlor when there's a seat open. Until then, fuck off."

The turian was stilled, a quizzical expression matching Shepard's tense expression. His gaze shifted from commander to convict, feeling both awkward and uncertain all at once. Then, there came a second distraction, mandibles fluttered open in surprise and brow plates raised. Garrus's eyes were trained on Jack's throat.

"Jack, is that... Did you tattoo 'Normandy SR2' across your neck?"

There was a pause, though the pen continued to buzz. "No. That's your mother's face," Jack answered promptly. "Yes, Garrus, its the Normandy. I know you are hard of hearing, didn't know you were blind too."

The turian sighed, rolling his shoulders. He felt entirely defeated by this wave of realization. Garrus had been so absorbed in calibrations and finding some inner peace after Omega, he failed to notice the weave of loyalties between members of the special task force. He heard that Jack and Miranda were in a brutal fight earlier, though it was entirely hearsay and he chose to ignore the squabble. EDI thought it important to update the entire crew Legion and Tali were prepared to represent opposing forces in the war between the Geth and Quarians after a tense quarrel, but even then, Garrus was too busy training his body for the fight against the collectors. With Shepard's company an exception, Vakarian had all but ignored the crew's welfare, believing his attentions were better served on weapons diagnostics and strategy. He'll prepare for the war, let the commander take care of the crew's morale. That was what they both decided.

Shepard welcomed this balance. She was more than happy to knock some sense into her crew, while Garrus studied Miranda's strategies and altered them appropriately. They were, for choice of words, a double headed dragon tasked to complete the mission. Garrus and Shepard's alliance was in secret, and few members of the crew were aware that Garrus, not Miranda, was the actual XO - though those few members were the ones that mattered. Namely, the only ones that could be trusted. The secret had to remain confidential, lest Miranda and The Illusive Man find a way to manipulate the partnership between Shepard and Garrus. Shepard had a mission. She was operating in secret to slowly take back the Normandy from Cerberus, and to add insult to injury, also take with her the entire goddamn crew from the Illusive Man. That was the plan. As it was, Garrus took care of diagnostics, Shepard took care of the crew.

However, in his debriefings with Shepard, she rarely explained the crew's dynamics apart from a "Legion shouldn't work with Tali. That's all." or "Don't worry about Jack. I've knocked sense in her." or "I've taken care of Thane." or "Well, Mordin knows you're in charge while I'm off ship. As well as Samara. Add those two to the list of people we can trust." Unless Garrus was requested for a mission, he really did not know anything deeper than the special task force's skills and abilities.

Staring at Jack's fresh Normandy tattoo, he became even more acutely aware of just how much he didn't know, and how much Shepard didn't care to tell him.

It was as if she had a life outside of those small windows they shared.

It was as if she built up personal relationships with these people he did not know...

... Which made sense. Shepard was always very secretive. A goddamn question mark with a pissed off frown. And he knew her better than anyone. Yet, at the same time, he clearly didn't know her at all.

Especially this. This... was... This would blow the secrecy of their partnership completely in the air. Face paint was one thing, Shepard frequently borrowed other culture's customs and ideas, for what purpose, Garrus assumed had to do with her innate desire to understand a species' power structure and the institutions behind implementing those customs. She once even tried on a Quarian's headgear, said it was to understand Tali's weaknesses and strengths. Made sense at the time. But this... Tattoos were permanent. Shepard couldn't just put it on and off. She was making a very strong declaration against Cerberus by proclaiming her loyalties permanently on her face, just before the eve of battle.

"Shepard," Garrus started, gaze shifting from Jack back to his commander. "Are you sure about this?"

"Stop asking questions. I'm working on her jaw right now," the convict growled, shifting her weight as she angled the pen and pressed the tip across the length of the woman's cheek. "If she starts talking by accident, the whole damn thing is messed up."

A line of ink mixed with red blood trickled across Shepard's cheek. Jack deftly wiped a rag across the fresh wound, continuing her work. The woman would slide the pen across the Commander's face then tenderly wipe away the excess with the rag, then repeat.

"Yeah. She's sure." Jack answered for Shepard, looking over her shoulder once at Garrus before returning to work. "Mordin and EDI finally decoded the Reaper IFF thing, Shepard told me. We'll be taking it out for a test run after this. After that, we do the Omega 4 Relay thing."

The convict sniffed, her voice harmonizing with the buzz of her needle. "I don't know the cultural reasons why turians get tattoos and I don't give a fuck either, but humans don't usually just whimsically throw on body art for shits and giggles. I know I do, but most don't. There is a meaning behind it, there is ritual. Some people go to church, some people get tattooed. Either way, we come out a different person with a deeper reflection of ourselves. Me? I remember the moment it happens. The pain of it. I meditate on that pain. Shepard? Right now Shepard is meditating on a whole lot of pain, I can tell you that right now..."

Garrus watched as Shepard's eyes narrowed dangerously, lips thin and brows furrowed. She glared heatedly at Jack, as if suggesting the woman was revealing information that was none of her business and delving into a private moment that wasn't her own.

"Don't give me that look, Foucault. Or should I call you Fuck Off? I mean, that's why you chose the name right? Cuz it sounds like Fuck Off?," Jack replied easily with a smirk. "Anyways. I have the needle in my hand. Don't think it isn't beyond me to mess this shit up if you don't relax and let me talk. You asked for this shit, so you will just have to do it my way."

"Anyways, as I was saying," The convict continued, a rare grin fixed on her lips as she suddenly recognize the power she was wielding over the commander in that moment. "The pain is part of the process. I remember where I was and what I was doing when I got my ink, its a memory burned into me. But there is one thing I will never get. A face tattoo. It hurts like shit. I don't know anything that's so important I'd get my whole damn face branded. Been saving for that important thing to tattoo on my face. Anyways, for whatever reason, Commander ma'am here is willing to deal with it. She wants her face tattooed. And I respect that."

Jack gingerly turned Shepard's head, carefully tracing the opposite jaw with expert precision. "So we made a deal. She gives me a tattoo," the convict pointed her free hand at the fresh emblazoned Normandy insignia that occupied the space across the right side of her neck, " ... and I give one to her."

A moment passed, the buzz of Jack's needle filling the silence between all three occupants. The quiet wasn't necessarily uncomfortable, but it certainly wasn't welcoming. It forced the turian to consider the unspoken reasons why Shepard chose to permanently adorn her face with an important turian customary symbol and the possible repercussions of these actions should another turian or, heaven forbid, the council see her. Such an action would insult his species' official institutions.

It might not start a war. But it definitely wouldn't help Shepard make new friends.

But... Shepard knew this, Vakarian was sure his explanations of his culture were not mistranslated during their conversations. He was also aware that the woman had a complete disregard for authority as well as social constructs, which baffled his sensibilities years before he adopted the name 'Archangel'.

'Screw rules,' Shepard would say. 'Screw them. They exist primarily to keep us and others in check. Rules exist to benefit those who make the rules. It solves nothing. Look at what we are dealing with now, with Saren - just a whole lot of us and no damn support. All because of rules. Remember, Garrus. If something goes wrong, take care of it by your own measure. Don't wait around for approval by those in power. Its bullshit."

It made sense to Shepard, a spectre whose primary job was to second guess galactic law. And it made sense to Garrus, who would later adopt the name Archangel.

Garrus Vakarian narrowed his eyes, the sharp blue pools meeting Shepard's cool gaze. It made perfect sense that Shepard would spit in the direction of the Alliance, Cerberus, and the Galactic Council by doing what no other human had done: tattoo a perfect replication of a turian's markings across her own face.

It made sense because Shepard loved not making any sense. It made sense because she hated the rules and the constraints that were required to maintain differences between aliens.

Though Garrus couldn't help but hope maybe, just maybe, Shepard was willing to tattoo her face out of some acknowledgement of their personal relationship. And not just as a royal fuck you to the council, to the Alliance, and to Cerberus.. He could hope. Didn't mean that's how she felt.

The commander, unable to speak, merely searched Garrus' gaze from the cool distance between them, lifting her right brow and narrowing her left eye. He mimicked the expression.

It was turian body language. She basically told him to 'Deal with it' and his response back?

'Really? Well then. Deal with this.'

"Jack?" Vakarian inquired, watching Shepard's eyes widen in mixed curiosity and downright frustration. Both brows furrowed and she puffed her left cheek slightly. Again, turian nonverbal. 'What are you doing?'

"Didn't I tell you to piss off earlier, Garrus?" Jack replied coolly, tilting Shepard's neck back, breaking the silent conversation between them. "I'm kind of busy and your presence is making Shepard's muscles tense up. Shit, Foucault, please relax or this shit is going to hurt worse than a fucking Vorcha bite."

Garrus paused, uncertain how to phrase his request. "I have another favor to ask."

"On top of having those tattoos on your face redone?" The convict asked, outlining a darker navy blue across Shepard's right jaw pattern. "What is it?"

"I would like to have Shepard's N7 insignia tattooed on me."

There was a gruff sound coming from the commander, her fingers balled into fists.

"Shit, Shepard, I told you to stop tensing up! Now you are learning the hard way," Jack smirked, still working as Shepard grunted in pain. "Sure, Vakarian, can do. But first you have to do me a favor."

Garrus watched Shepard with a mixture of satisfaction and amusement, crossing both arms across his chest as he studied the moment. Shepard, in return, shot a deathly glare at him that promised a very long sparring match later that would probably leave him flat on his ass if she had anything to do with it. "What favor?"

"Tell me why," Jack raised a hand, wiping a crown of sweat beads from her brow. Still, she worked without pausing. Garrus assumed it was to both exploit Shepard's vulnerabilities and keep her quiet in one swift move. The convict seemed to enjoy taking advantage of every sweet moment between them. "Why do you want Shepard's N7 plate permanently on your thick skin?"

Vakarian rolled his shoulders, mandibles flickering slightly as he tried to search for an appropriate answer that would clarify the subtleties of his relationship with Shepard without endangering the sanctity of what mostly went unsaid, even between them. It was difficult coming up with words. Typically, turians don't ask personal questions, this was uniquely a human and asarian feature. He was indoctrinated to believe that one does not disclose or openly converse personal feelings, instead his species believed that actions always spoke louder than words and such verbal exchanges were unnecessary. He thumbed for an answer, trying to find Shepard's gaze but instead regarding Jack fully. The convict intentionally blocked their nonverbal communication. Which was, for the most part, probably unnecessary. Garrus had an odd feeling the Commander would have only bitterly stared at him in suggestion that he leave instead of answering.

"I just want the crew to know where my loyalties lie. Not with the alliance, or Cerberus, or anyone else. Just her."

"Funny." Jack half smiled, in mixed mockery and sincerity. Garrus did not know how to read both emotions at once, and wondered if this was a new human nonverbal he had never encountered before.

"You aren't the first person to say that. Hell. You aren't even the second. Or third." the convict narrowed her eyes wickedly, shifting her head in Shepard's direction who was still very much trapped by the woman's own machinations. The commander merely pointed at Jack who returned the threat with a grin.

"Alright, Where do you want it, Garrus?

Garrus mulled over the question thoughtfully. Turians used body art as means of identification. They typically branded their faces, necks, and fringes since these features were almost always visible to friends and enemies. The concept was built upon colony warfare. Alliances were easier to create, and deception was nearly impossible since the entire culture was based on status, appearances, and rank. Vakarian had an idea that helped strengthen his intentions. "I want to adopt your culture's point of view. Tell me, Jack. What is the most important organ or feature symbolically to humans?"

"As opposed to our sexual organs?" Jack asked half jokingly, "Depends on the culture. Some say the eyes, other hands... I read somewhere that Earthborn Europeans believed the heart was the center of the universe. Shepard looks white enough to be European, doubt you'll get much further from historical symbols."

Vakarian shifted his weight backwards and tilted his head in an expression of amusement, listening to the soft purr of Foucault Shepard's low growl. She was protesting, but what is fair is fair. "Indeed. I would like to have the N7 insignia tattooed across the center of my chest then." He stepped around the room, in the opposite direction he came in. The turian stepped closer, considering the Jack's handiwork and humming approvingly. Jack already had practice retouching his tattoos a few times, and with the face paint he applied to Shepard's face fading, Jack had an appropriate level of guidance, practice, and skill that respectfully showcased the turian's tattoos across Shepard's face. He admired them distantly, mandibles relaxed, watching Shepard solidly who softened her gaze and breathed out a sigh through her nose. 'Fine. I give up.,' Shepard was saying.

"I will return in a few hours, when you are done, Jack," Garrus nodded and made his way towards the exit.

Jack nodded thoughtfully, "Yeah. See you then, hard tin."

The turian secretly waited outside the door, just long enough so he could hear Shepard say-

"WHAT THE FUCK, JACK? Are you TRYING to fucking knock my face off with your damn needle?"

"Awww, widdle baby Commander Ma'am can't deal with a tiny little needle? Weren't you like... killed... and stuff? And this needle is more painful than.. like... that?"

Garrus snickered and disappeared before the brunt of Shepard's anger could reach him.

* * *

**Author's Notes ::**

Alright. Let's talk about this.

I've had a few interesting PMs and conversations with people about how insulting it would be for a human to adopt turian tattoos.

So here are my points -

1) Since when did my Shepard ever give you the impression she cares about what other people think, or that she even respects their opinions?

2) I imagine that turians come in all shapes, sizes, and different opinions. My argument is that _some_ conservative turians would find the facial tattoos insulting, just like there are _some_ conservative humans who find homosexuality insulting. But this is a big galaxy, and people are increasingly coming together from different parts of the galaxy. _some_ turians would find it offensive, while _most_ wouldn't really care.

So booyah.


	4. Supervision

**SUPERVISION  
**

It takes an ocean of trust if you are going to survive long hours traveling between solar systems.  
Moments between Garrus and Shepard before the Omega 4 Relay mission.

* * *

Few individuals were intimately familiar with the Normandy's advanced technological system, fewer still who worked for Cerberus. The system itself was a perfect synthesis of human ingenuity and turian practicality. It was one of the reasons why Garrus remained fixated at the ship's core, running numbers and analysis, working hard to correct Cerberus' oversights. Yes, they did recreate the Normandy, but it lacked a turian's perspective - a crucial point that made the original ship brilliant. Garrus admired the Normandy, warmed by its battery's interior and comforted by the numbers and statistics he studied day in and day out. As strained as relationships were between humans and turians after the first contact war, the Normandy was a perfect model of what could be achieved between both races. He enjoyed meditating on the dialogue, imagining the hands that crafted each interior plate and the intrigue of each calibration fully utilized within the weapons system. He imagined that when the first ship was being built, a turian officer had gawked in wonder as his prejudices towards humans were swept aside by his Systems Alliance colleague who had solved a particularly difficult equation in the battery's interior. When Garrus first boarded the remake, it was cold. Not nearly as warm or intriguing as the original. But after long hours of hard work, putting together upgrades and stitching mistakes made by Cerberus, it finally started to feel like home again.

Vakarian hummed aloud, his personal visor feeding a loud string of music into his good eardrum. He had been listening to various genres of human music, by Kasumi's suggestion. She had taken an interest in his personal life since Shepard's tattoo incident, and he assumed her attempts at small talk were mostly to tease out any gossip she could use in the thief's need to quell her boredom. When she could find no clues into their relationship beyond professional comradeship, Kasumi tried to educate Garrus in human culture, sharing her own art, literature, and musical interests. He assumed she still had ulterior motives, but he still politely accepted the materials.

Besides. The music was a welcome distraction from the eerie silence that had swallowed the Normandy whole since the entire crew's disappearance.

Now that was a shock. One moment, you are with your team mates to test out the IFF. And in just a few hours, you return to space to find your ship is completely missing... And when you do find your ship, its completely devoid of crew members with an artificial intelligence that claims it has taken over the ship, and a shaken pilot who broke his leg crawling through the air ducts. There was no way around it, the Normandy had no time to waste if they were to save the missing crew from whatever fate the collectors had in store.

Shepard had ordered everyone who was on deck to complete any remaining updates with what resources were left from the last planet sweep. They were on a time crunch of six hours before the Omega-4 Relay mission would begin.

Garrus worked quickly and effectively, his visor's volume loud enough to cut any noise from the outside. Or rather, the lack of noise.

_**Officer. Vakarian.**_

"What in th-!" Garrus turned around abruptly, instinctively whipping out his assault rifle. The voice came from all directions, a synthesized buzzed that rattled his plates.

"Legion?" The turian inquired, holstering his weapon. The geth gazed thoughtfully (Can AI be thoughtful? Garrus mused) up at the officer, the light of its optical dimming as it studied him. "Please. Please don't do that again."

"Apologies, Officer Vakarian. We tried interrupting your work three times in fail. You were disconnected. It was necessary to hack into your visor," The geth's plates lifted and moved, shifting individually as it reflected on thoughts. "Assistance is needed."

Garrus shifted his weight backwards, turning off the sound from his visor as he studied the Geth. Damn thing still creeped him out. And the AI's ability to replicate organic emotions by shifting its body, moving the plates surrounding its optical, and using minimal voice inflection just about freaked Garrus out every time. "What is it? Are we ready to launch?"

"Negative. No. Assistance still required. It is Shepard Commander. Assistance from second commanding organic necessary according to all modules. Please return with us to the cafeteria. It is -"

There was a large boom, startling Garrus enough to shift his attention from the concerned (... Can AI be concerned? Garrus wondered yet again) Geth to the Normandy's battery door. It almost sounded like a body or a table was thrown at it from the outside.

"What th-"

"Shepard Commander is conducting full contact sparring without proper supervision," Legion continued, unphased by the noise. "Please return with us to the cafeteria."

Full contact sparring...? Garrus found himself with his mandibles flexed in shock. She didn't... She did not.. She couldn't have... "Legion, stay here and don't... touch... anything. I'll check what's going on.."

"Affirmative."

Garrus passed Legion with little bravado, opening the mechanical door. He stared, surprised at the dead weight that had dented his door. Grunt blocked the hallway between the battery room and the cafeteria, his tongue lulled out and eyes rolled back.

"What in the world is going on?" The turian questioned out loud, stepping over the unconscious krogan and into the mess room.

"Sparring ring." Jacob was the first to answer, moving quickly towards Garrus and walking with the turian towards the cafeteria. As Garrus moved through the hall in a quick, clipped pace, it started to become quite clear - what with the chairs thrown about, the table tossed aside, and the various unconscious comrades strewn on the ground - that his music had done more than sound out the silence.

"Commander Shepard said she thought it was a good idea to adopt the turian model of releasing stress before the battle." Jacob continued, stepping in line with Vakarian. "People she was sparring with started to get knocked unconscious. Thane, Zaeed, hell.. you saw that even Grunt's been knocked down."

"...Indeed," Garrus responded, not masking his shock.

"The commander's snapped, and none of us are able to talk sense into her. Hell. None of us can get close enough to even immobilize her... some of us don't even wanna try..."

"Have you tried asking? Or saying please?" Garrus inquired dumbly, stopping just at the entrance of the cafeteria. He eyed the empty space warily, catching only a glimpse of the Commander as she egged Jack on, who stood on top of the mess hall's counter.

"Nah.." Jacob shook his head, pointing at the bruise that was beginning to well across the right side of his face. "She knocked me real good on the jaw when I tried to pin her down though. Shit."

Vakarian narrowed his eyes, wisely walking around the cafeteria, out of sight and out of mind as Jack charged into Shepard, throwing the commander against the wall about forty feet away from him. Thane and Zaeed were propped against the door near the medbay, Dr. Mordin busying himself with the wounded. Well, at least the other specialists weren't dumb enough to confront Shepard. Garrus suspected it was likely that the others likely did not know what was happening, or wisely chose to mind their own damn business. Jacob lead Garrus into Miranda's office.

Miranda Lawson was highly agitated, palms pressed into her desk as she watched the fight between Jack and Shepard behind the reinforced windows of her private office.

"Garrus, I can't control her," Lawson started, shaking her head in frustration. "She won't listen to me. She's been at this for nearly an hour."

An hour...? Spirits, human music really must be pretty damn distracting if he couldn't hear this commotion for over an hour... Maybe it had brainwashing effects. He'd have to ask Kasumi about that.

Miranda pushed herself off the desk and walked around the room, "Listen, Vakarian. I know that there is something between you two. I know you've been her adviser since we picked you up on Omega."

It almost sounded like an accusation. Though, if Garrus didn't know any better, there was a nuance of human defeat to her tone. "Officer Laws-"

"I'm not stupid, Garrus," Lawson shook her head, tracing one finger across her nose and jaw, mimicking Shepard's tattoos. Emphasizing her point. "Even before that... Do you really think I'd be so daft that I wouldn't notice your orders were always preferred over mine?"

The Cerberus operative sighed, her voice tired and appearance somewhat haggard by the stress that had breached her office from the fight still going on between Shepard and Jack outside. "I've had to keep appearances for the Illusive Man over the last few weeks. If he caught wind of your authority, you would have been knocked out of this ship faster than Vorcha waste."

Miranda waved her hand before Garrus could interrupt, continuing as she breathed evenly. "I didn't say anything because I know you are the only one with the ability to keep her in check. You are the only one she trusts."

"Officer Lawson..." The turian stumbled over his words. What could he say? He wasn't sure. This entire time, Shepard and he had worked and planned and plotted behind the woman's back. All this time they usurped her authority in secret in order to protect the interests of their work. At least... that was what Garrus assumed. Miranda's confession had suddenly made it very clear that their secrecy was more like an insult paraded in front of her. Perhaps more shocking was that Miranda had safeguarded this secret from the Illusive Man's prying eyes.

She was an ally all along, unbeknown to both of them. Or, at least to him... just how much did Shepard really know, and how much was she keeping from him?

Garrus stared at Miranda. Were they both being played by Shepard?

"Now stop hiding behind the shadows and step up," Miranda demanded, one finger thrusting past Vakarian's shoulder, pointing at the fight that continued in the background "Do your job, it certainly isn't mine as far as Shepard's concerned."

Garrus paused, deliberating as his position was publicly acknowledged by the Cerberus Operative. His gaze shifted from Jacob, who confirmed the turian's authority with a stiff nod then back to Miranda, who seemed frustrated and irritated by the lack of order around her.

"Thank you Officer Lawson," Garrus shifted his weight around, watching Shepard throw Jack over her shoulder and into the wall. "I suggest you cut all video surveillance to the Illusive Man."

Miranda shook her head, "It is already done. For all he knows, we are traveling between geth systems."

The turian smiled by pushing his weight back into the toes of his feet, emitting a low rattling noise. Simultaneously, he relaxed his mandibles, showing a line of teeth in a strange combination of human and turian language cues. How did Shepard do it? Just how did she do it..? How did she get the most loyal Cerberus servant on this entire damn ship to take her side? How the hell did Shepard do it? Threats wouldn't have worked on Miranda. And Shepard was anything but charismatic.

He knew her best. And still, knew her not at all. How the hell does Shepard do it?

Garrus breathed evenly and nodded. "I would suggest you both strike out the thought that Shepard has lost her mind. She has not."

Miranda's eyes widened, "What are you talking about? She's tearing apart the Mess Hall before our eyes."

"I said, she hasn't. The problem with most of you humans is you think strictly within the confines of your species. While I understand that you both operate under Cerberus Protocol, Commander Shepard has made it perfectly clear since the beginning of the mission that Cerberus is not in charge," Garrus pointed outside the window, right at Commander Shepard who was busy parrying Jack's punches, solidly emphasizing something. "She is."

"I understand, Garrus, but that doesn't mean she should be knocking our crew unconscious hours before a suicide mission."

Vakarian rolled his eyes. For a turian, the officer was very rebellious and a bit of an outsider as far as the hierarchy was concerned. But there was a certain respect for authority, especially his Commander's authority, that could not be breached and went against his very sensibilities. Why Miranda kept second guessing Shepard was beyond him. It simply did not make sense and was downright insulting to the entire ship.

"Dear spirits, think outside your cultural frame work. She isn't making sense to you because you're the one not THINKING sensibly." Vakarian tapped his head sharply. He sighed, the exaggeration of air rattling his chest. Gingerly, the turian began to unhinge his armor, unlatching the gauntlets that embraced the tight, metallic sinew of his arms. "She knows better than anyone that this fight we're taking to the reapers goes beyond humans. This is about understanding, relating, and learning from other cultures. There is so much humans can learn from other species, including the turians. Just look at the Normandy. The ship is testament to what we can do if we work together without judging each others methods."

Garrus shrugged off the scrapped blue plates, tossing the heavy turian armor aside and revealing a sharp, twisted torso braced by large metallic spikes. The upper half of his body was heavy and thick, supported by a small twisted waist. He kept his hip and shin braces on, as well as his boots as he began to speak slowly and methodically, "Shepard is adopting the turian hierarchy's concept of war preparation. She's testing us. Teaching us. And in return, Shepard is learning our reflexes. Our strengths. Our weaknesses. And its also a hell of a way to relieve stress."

Miranda's frustrated gaze dissolved as her pale blue eyes drew from Garrus' face to his exposed chest, lips parted in surprise as she studied the familiar N7 tattoo inked proudly between the plates of his collarbones. "I didn't... I didn't think of it that way.." Miranda sighed, defeated. "I just... I don't get her, Garrus. I've run all the psych profiles and I... I just... don't get her."

"Oh, give me a break. The fact that you don't understand her makes her invaluable. Because if her crew doesn't get her, then her enemies sure as hell won't." Garrus measured the woman with his eyes, nodding slightly as he turned to leave, "Cerberus is always trying to answer questions that should just remain as they are. They always have to have clear lines, and everything always has to be defined by a human perspective."

The turian glared between Jacob and Miranda, driving home his point. "You don't understand her because you are so limited by the way you think. I understand her just fine, and I'm a turian. That is why we don't trust Cerberus, they make a very clear distinction between humanity and other aliens in a war that requires galactic unification. Ironic that Cerberus, a human centric organization should recreate the Normandy without understanding exactly what it represents."

Garrus sighed, shaking his head. "Miranda, supervise us from here and make sure that neither I nor her get out of hand during the match... Jacob, help Mordin carry Grunt back to the medbay. Use your biotics if you have to, damn krogan probably weighs over a ton."

A short grunt escaped Miranda Lawson's lips, arms crossed under her breasts and brows furrowed. The turian paused, studying human expression. He didn't quite understand it, considering his library of human body language was based on Shepard's movements. "I'm still concerned, Garrus. Are you sure this is the right course of action? You could get seriously hurt out there, and we need your guidance on this mission. Last thing the Normandy needs is its newly appointed second in command planted on the ship because of a major injury."

Vakarian breathed through his nose, considering the options. He nodded once, his eyes resting seriously on Miranda's gaze. "I am certain that this is the only course of action. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a fight to attend."

He could hear a sigh of defeat escape Miranda as the turian turned around and stepped outside to meet Shepard.

A part of Garrus was excited. The other part of him dreaded confronting the Commander.

He knew how capable she was of throwing people on their asses, Vakarian certainly didn't want to be added onto that list.

The turian rolled his shoulders as he slowly stepped outside, joints popping and plates shifting over small pockets of flesh that existed across his neck and between the tissues that connected his limbs. Sharp blue eyes watched Shepard and Jack thoughtfully, carefully stepping around the rubble and broken furniture that decorated the cafeteria. With the entire Normandy Crew abducted by the collectors, the rubble and noise of two women screaming in a pretty empty mess hall was a nice distraction from the depressing situation. He paused to compare Jack's vital signs, body heat, biotics, fatigue, and wounds with Shepard's by reading the statistics from the glowing screen of his visor. Shepard was wearing down pretty quickly, and Jack was still in good shape. Granted, the Commander did fight three others before challenging Jack...

"Jack, I will have to ask you to step aside and let me in," Garrus demanded as he stepped forward, leaning against the wall as he continued to observe the two women.

"No way, hard tin," Jack growled, pushing her weight off the balls of her heels as she bounced back and forth, fists raised, dodging Shepard's fluid punches. "This is just starting to get good!"

The turian narrowed his eyes, plates bristled slightly as he borrowed a few human expressive cues to make his point. "Jack, that was not a request. That was an order from your superior officer. Step. Down."

Shepard pulled backwards, her stance relaxed as she watched Garrus thoughtfully. Jack's guard also dropped, shoulders slumped in defeat. The convict turned her head, aggressive eyes gauging Garrus, gaze fixed on the N7 tattoo she had inked on him less than a moon cycle ago. "... huh, so the truth finally comes out."

Snorting with mixed frustration and irritation, the Jack stepped around the table thrown off to its side and against the wall, speaking out loud as she departed towards the elevator, "Didn't like taking orders from the Cheerleader anyways. Good to know she got replaced."

Vakarian shook his head as Jack sauntered out, before drawing his full attention to the bruised woman before him. Shepard was not wearing her armor, stripped to the simple Varren leathers of a colonial outfit. There were a few tears across her leg, though no significant wounds. Her breathing was slow and practiced, and the commander gave all the appearances of being perfectly able. However, Garrus' visor suggested her heart was racing slightly above normal and her body's temperature was a few degrees higher than average. He noticed the slight limp, suggesting a strained right calf muscle.

Despite the fatigue, Shepard lowered into a stance specific for turian combat. Probably standard alliance training. Likewise, Garrus also lowered his weight, slowly circling the room as he gauged the human female's reflexes.

"So you want some of this?" The Normandy Commander inquired, brow lifted as she raised her guard.

"Not a question of wanting, so much as needing," Garrus breathed the statement, mandibles flickering as he continued his circle, stepping one foot over the other as he shifted his weight with purpose.

The woman sighed, her voice rasped and exposing some tire. "This was your idea."

"I know."

Perhaps Shepard suddenly felt exposed. Perhaps Garrus finally pissed her off to the final degree. Perhaps the unspoken tension between them finally got the best of her. Whatever happened in that moment, the Commander suddenly charged forward in a rather thoughtless manner, knocking her upper body backwards as she spun on her strong leg and threw the force of her charge into a high kick - shin aimed for the turian's bandaged right face. The attack lacked foresight. Fluidly, the turian pulled away from the leg, one hand deflecting the kick and pushing her momentum off the side. She leaned forward quickly, throwing an uppercut that he caught with his free hand, holding her fist between his claws as he leaned in with a justifiable turian smirk.

"You are very flexible," Garrus mocked. "I recommend using your human body to its advantage instead of wasting it on this fight."

"What is this," Shepard spat, knocking his hand away from hers as her voice picked up. "You comparing me to that flexible turian scout of yours you slept with? Shut up and fight!"

The commander spun around quickly, callused knuckles contacting metallic plates as Vakarian dodged her blows and guided her punches with his wrists. He watched her shift her hips again, noting how the punches were distractions as she aimed another timed kick towards his right face.

"And yet, you forget," Garrus stated quickly, leaning backwards as he swiped his hand under Shepard's supporting leg, throwing her off her feet and onto the ground with a satisfying thud.

"I have reach."

Shepard's even breathes became ragged as her temper picked up, Vakarian's mocking voice picking out her frustrations and exposing more physical weaknesses produced from the fatigue of sparring for over an hour with varying opponents. Good, Vakarian mentally noted. He wanted to end this quickly.

"You want to make this real?" Foucault growled, pinching a tense muscle between her index finger and thumb, forcing it relax at she roughly kneaded it. The woman pulled herself back onto her feet, face flushed red as she assessed the turian more aggressively. "Come on, Garrus. Let's make this real. Let's settle this. Human and turian. You and me. Screw the first contact war, let's see where it goes here and now."

She was suddenly around him, using her flexibility and speed against his physique as three blows contacted the soft tissue of his neck, before knocking her elbow into the small of his back. Garrus grimaced at the pain, swiping one long arm around and knocking Shepard against a nearby wall. Her shoulder hit the surface, breath picking up pace as her anger reached its pique. Grey eyes flashed at Vakarian, small pinpoint cybernetic reds peaking visibly behind her pupils and contrasting the fresh blue ink tattooed across her cheeks.

"Come on, Garrus. This all you have?" Shepard shook her head, pushing herself off the wall as her voice carried through the empty cafeteria "This your limit? No wonder all of your team mates died back on Omega. You didn't give it your god damn all."

The words hit him, one after another, cutting the turian deeply.

"I need you all to evacuate the cafeteria and go to the bridge. That means you too, Kasumi," Vakarian announced out loud, turning his attention to Miranda's office where Lawson, Jacob, and Mordin watched the two, expressions unreadable as the tension between the fighters raised exponentially.

"Fuck you, Garrus," Shepard spat, fists pulling up high into a guard as she taunted the turian, "Come on, hit me you fucking coward!"

The turian repeated himself in a low tone, eyes still fixed on the three occupants who watched open mouthed and dazed "That was not a suggestion. That was an order from your second in command." He cocked his head lower, steadying a cool gaze on the woman in front of him as he repeated his orders to their subordinates, "Bridge. NOW."

He could hear the door open, as all three still conscious specialists moved quickly from the office to the elevator. He watched them just off the corner of his eye, though Garrus' gaze remained fixed on the fierce woman in front of him. He could hear the elevator open then close, the mechanical whirr as it drifted up the shaft and into the bridge.

"I hope you know what you are doing, Garrus," Kasumi gently announced, from the airvents. He couldn't tell if the thief was still there, but Vakarian imagined the woman respected him enough that she would leave.

Which left two more people to deal with.

"EDI? I am requesting you delete any surveillance. I will not have my crew chattering like prepubescent asari if this footage goes out," Garrus stated calmly, moving in a circle as Shepard followed him in a slow, fluid motion.

"Awww, come on, Garrus," Joker groaned from the speakers. "EDI and I are waging bets who will knock who on their ass! I'm personally rooting for you, man. EDI said it is statistically unlikely."

"By a slight margin," EDI responded. "I will have your credits, Jeff."

This intercom conversation was enough to illicit a groan from the turian, "Oh for... Joker, that is an order. My patience is not limitless."

The pilot grumbled something that Garrus couldn't understand, before Joker finally ceded, "Pfft.. Fine... whatever gets that stick out your ass."

"Very well," EDI stated monotonously, "Cutting transmission."

With unwanted company gone and prying eyes disconnected, Garrus continued to tread backwards into a smooth circle. He watched Shepard with an unreadable expression, studying her as she followed him in this dance between them. There were no words, no traces of warm communication between them. Only two different beings honed and skilled in melee combat, reading each other, memorizing one another's movements... the way Garrus would pull off the weight from his left leg... how Shepard's limp lessened as she adopted a lower stance.

Then there it was. He saw it. Her muscle tensed. She was preparing to charge. Garrus waited, patiently, guard raised. Just as Shepard aimed to knock a fist solidly into his face again, he managed to dive behind her. He grabbed her wrist and yanked it backwards as he spun her momentum around and forced the commander's back against his. Fluidly both arms wrapped around her head, one clawed hand pressed atop her head as the other securely gripped her shoulder. Shepard struggled against the headlock. She kicked and twitched, screamed and insulted, still Garrus held steadfast, feeling the vibration of her pulse against his chest plate as it paced faster. She elbowed, knocked her foot into his shin, but despite the pain and the attacks, the turian persisted the headlock until the woman's body weakened from asphyxiation.

"Jane," Garrus started, calmly speaking over her shoulder. His voice was a stark contrast to her violent behavior, soothing and relaxed, "No one blames you for their disappearance."

"I am so tired, Garrus." Shepard cried out loud, knocking an elbow solidly into his side then kicking him violently. "I am so tired of people dying on me."

The turian sighed, his voice rattling his chest as he maintained the hold. "I'm still here."

"But you might not be tomorrow."

"I know."

There was a moment as the violence, the anger, and the frustration slowly disappeared, turning into something else that Garrus did not quite recognize from Shepard. When her body relaxed against his in defeat, he slowly unlocked his arms around her head. Shepard was always emotionally distant and uninviting. But over the course of the mission, Vakarian had began to understand her more clearly. She turned to regard him fully, her expression drained as she measured the N7 patch tattooed across the thick exoskeleton shell of his chest. Her trust seemed cemented, and slowly Garrus could sense her walls dropping before him.

"The only thing I had control over these days is when people died, and now even the Collectors have taken that away from me," Foucault muttered.

The commander shook her head slowly, breathing through her nose as her pulse calmed and her body temperature dropped to normal levels. Vakarian cocked his head patiently, his rasped breathing painting the silence before he spoke, calmly and methodically. "You've seen many people die. Many without your direct orders. What is this really about, Shepard?"

"Cerberus is trying to control me." Foucault pressed a finger to her temple, tracing the scar tissue that formed across her fresh tattoos then pointed at the red glint in her pupil, "How long will it take until I break down? I have enough cybernetic implants in me to power a small ship, Garrus. I'm a synthetic organic. The only difference between me and Saren is the patron."

Vakarian's brows raised, stepping forward as he searched the woman's pale expression. "You think you are losing self control?"

Shepard shook her head, throwing her arms in the air as she took three steps away from the turian, and turned around to face him again. "I don't know. I don't... Is a part of my soul asleep? Am I indoctrinated?"

"Shepard.." Garrus tilted his head and leaned towards her comfortingly.

"I'm very good at faking disinterest Garrus, but right now my levels are all fucked up," The commander pulled away from Vakarian. He could sense the woman creating new barriers, distancing herself emotionally as she spoke sharply. "I'm numb. Is this how Saren felt before he fell apart? Garrus, am I on the brink of becoming Saren?"

"Jane..."

"I know what I have to do to get this job done," Shepard said plainly. Simply. Methodically. "I still know what I am here for."

She bridged the gap between them, extending her hand towards the turian rebel's face. He stilled his movements, gingerly leaning into the touch and closing his eyes as he concentrated on the bonding ritual. Shepard was aware turians only touched one another's faces to reaffirm a level of affections that mostly went unsaid. It was a reflection of the connection shared between two individuals, be they family, partners, or close friends. The contact emphasized the gravity of Shepard's situation. "Garrus, listen to me. You have to listen to me."

Garrus leaned forward, offering comfort the only way he knew how. "What do you need?"

Shepard shook her head, a sad smirk graced her features. Her scars had began to peek out slightly, the cybernetic flesh contrasting the blue tattoos across her face. "You see, that's the joke. That's the punchline. I already got what I needed, some rest. And Cerberus wouldn't even let me have that."

Garrus sighed, gaze shifting from the ground then back to the full of her face, "Jane, you just need to hold on a little longer."

The commander narrowed her eyes, deep grey eyes faintly glowing with those pinpoints of optical red. What if Shepard was right? What if she was far more synthetic than her organic shell suggested? Just how many artificial implants did Cerberus use to recreate her? "There is a limit to what someone is capable of. I fear I may have reached that limit."

His scarred mandible fluttered under her hand as he spoke, still calm despite the tension. "There is nothing wrong with weakness. In my culture, we believe the greater your strengths, the greater your flaws. There is a balance to the body."

"Heh. Considering how fucked up I feel right now, I must be the god damn ubermensch to counterbalance that."

Garrus raised his brow plates as her hand fell away from his face plates, leaning his body backwards as he created a comfortable distance between them. "Neitszche, Shepard?"

The commander pulled away from the turian. He could sense the emotional barricade returning, the tension between them replaced by a chilled response. "In order to lead, one must have a disregard for biding laws or the moral structures that contain societies. That's what makes great leaders, unique individuals who create their OWN rules. Screwing up the balance of power comes hand in hand with changing things."

He followed her carefully as Foucault stepped across the trashed cafeteria, watching as she lifted her lower body up onto the mess hall's bar. One leg crossed the other, ankles pressed unto the surface of the counter as she watched Garrus draw closer to her. He made no motion to touch her, no motion to physically brace her. Instead, he merely closed in the space she kept creating between them, frequently looking aside and interrupting the eye contact between them. "Few people can start a revolution without support."

"Exactly," Shepard acknowledged, pressing her weight into her shoulder as she leaned towards Garrus like an overgrown bird. "Cerberus is not supporting me. I am supporting Cerberus. If this was chess, the king would be The Illusive Man. I'm just a pawn. A throwaway to meet the needs of an institution I loathe."

Vakarian shook his head, reflecting her points with human expressions that were conveyed more out of habit than force. "The less power you have, the less like Saren you are. Let Cerberus think they control you. Then cut off your strings when they least expect it."

"Garrus. With the level of cybernetics planted in me, I don't know how human I am. How synthetic I am," Foucault threw her hand in the air, as if pointing back to some unknown direction of space that made sense in the context of their conversation. "Look at how easy it was for the reapers to corrupt the Geth. To corrupt Saren. What if the reapers are already using this technology against me? Am I not becoming Saren?"

"Are you?" Garrus inquired carefully.

Shepard shook her head, sending loose threads of dark hair over her face and obscuring her features. "I don't know," the commander shrugged, speaking on a level of comfort that was downright frightening considering the subject. "What he did was logical. He wanted to sacrifice the smallest denominator to save a majority of lives. It makes sense, Garrus. Doesn't it make sense?"

His brow plates raised, mandibles flexed in surprise. He stepped his weight backwards, raising one claw as it pointed aggressively in Shepard's face, his voice dropping into a low growl. "No, it doesn't. And I will tell you why. Reapers are machines. We are organic. They are about order. We are about chaos. It makes no sense because we would be subjugated to order. Nature is a series of accidents and chaos, that is how the universe is suppose to work. Free will, Shepard..."

Garrus' plates bristled in anger, blue raptor like eyes piercing into Shepard's grey gaze. For a moment, it felt like their roles were reversed, Garrus picking up a more aggressive, irritable stance in contrast to Shepard's ease and patience. It made the situation all the more discomforting.

"But we make machines, don't we? They are our tools. Were reapers the tools of organics from the past?" Shepard asked gently, studying him from their close proximity. "Isn't that the next step then? To our evolution?"

Vakarian shook his head, biting his tongue briefly as his head fringe raised slightly. His voice dropped dangerously, mandibles flickering tensely as he spoke with clipped words. "It just doesn't make sense and giving up goes against our response as an organic species." He pointed one claw sharply between Shepard's eyes, her gaze cross eyed as she leaned back from the threat. "We are beings of free will who determine our own paths."

There was a strange chuckle that interrupted the tension, some strange unspoken humor that Garrus didn't quite understand. "Was that Schopenhaur, Garrus?"

His body relaxed, the anger subsiding as Shepard derailed the moment with a simple question. "No. That would be the turian philosopher Raynd Sagan.

The human nodded, and watched him carefully. He could sense her evaluating her words, the faint tense twitch of her lip, how her muscles stiffened. What was coming next couldn't be good, and Vakarian braced himself.

"Garrus?" She asked, maintaining the contact.

"Jane?"

"If something goes wrong. If I make a bad call..." Methodical. Calm. Slow. His eyes narrowed, tasting the gravity of her words as they slipped between them. "You maybe the only one to stand against me and a downfall. I know it is against your principles as a turian. But... I need you to question my decisions. I need you to watch me. I maybe on the brink. I can't turn into another Saren. You are the only one I know who would be able to shoot me if it comes to that."

Garrus suddenly pulled away from her, shaking his head as his eyes widened. It suddenly made sense, the training, the conversations, the revelations between them. Shepard's lessons about authority, or rather.. her distaste for authority. Teaching him how to question rules, orders, how to work outside the framework of his culture. How to become more rebellious, more.. human like and less turian. Vakarian always questioned C-Sec and the rules involved, but not with the same level of violence and selfish intent as Shepard had. Were it not for her guidance, he would never have killed Dr. Saleon. If it weren't for her help, he probably would not have had the courage to face Sidonis. Those actions were alien to him as a turian, but easier under the guidance of a human, ruthless as they maybe.

By teaching him to disobey the rules and regulations of others, Shepard ultimately was training him to act against her own orders - should she ever become a threat.

"Remember what I've always told you," The woman states carefully, eyes boring into his as the gravity between them set his head a spin. "A bullet to the head solves everything. Even if it means you shooting me. I'm scared, Garrus. I fear I may become Saren. I need you when the time comes."

"Jane," Garrus whispered, his imagination taking off into violent and unsound territory. "I won't let it come to that."

Shepard shook her head, glaring at the turian from the distance he was creating between himself and the bar she was seated at. "But if it does. If it does. You have to carry on in my absence." Her dictation became a plead, head tilted and eyes imploring him. "I need you. I need you to be stronger than me."

The turian watched her carefully, feeling the pits of his hearts rip inside out. He sighed in resignation and pulled towards her again, the weight of the situation affecting his walk. His talons raised, pausing as he sought acceptance. Shepard nodded, and his hand pressed across her cheek, the texture of her scabbed tattoos fixed against the pressure points of his claws. He pressed his forhead against hers and spoke carefully, "I promise."

He leaned back again, regarding the woman fully. She watched him thoughtfully before pulling herself off the bar in a slow saunter towards the elevator, stopping just at Vakarian's side.

"I will escort you to your quarters," Garrus suggested.

"No, Garrus." Foucault shook her head. "I can do that on my own."

The woman turned, facing him. Despite their close proximity, he could feel her personal walls pull up between them, her emotional distance returning to that same chilled disconnect. "Keep everyone on the bridge. I'll be down in four cycles. I need to rest."

Vakarian's mandibles flickered, his mind still repeating the conversation and promises made only seconds ago. "Jane..."

He felt a sharp knock at the left side of his face, the impact of the punch pushing him backwards. Whatever anxiety, tension, or angst that existed was quickly thrown out of his mind, a bare hand adjusting a sore mandible as he stared shocked at the woman in front of him.

Commander Shepard glared at him, shaking her hand, callused knuckles raw from impacting metal. She spun on her heel, making a b-line for the elevators as she spoke over her shoulder, "That was for the headlock."

Garrus snickered, shaking his head as he rubbed his sore face. "... Heh." Life would be just fine.

* * *

**Author's Notes ::**

Shepard doesn't cry. Shepard hits things. That's what Shepard does. At least, that's what Foucault does.


	5. Make up

_The final chapter to this small story. Enjoy.  
_

**MAKE UP  
**

_It takes an ocean of trust if you are going to survive long hours traveling between solar systems.  
Moments between Garrus and Shepard before the Omega 4 Relay mission._

* * *

Vakarian sat silently at the debriefing table, regarding each member of the special tasks force as they talked amongst themselves. There was little to do on such short notice except patiently wait for Shepard's entrance and, well... talk. This was also the first time the aliens were allowed to share the conference space with Cerberus, considering Miranda and Jacob's insecurities about non-Cerberus input into a human-centric mission. However, since the dossiers were collected, there was a strange familial connection that had formed between each specialist. It was odd that it would take the rescue of an entire crew in order to remind the Special Task force that Shepard was indeed in charge, and although the Illusive Man may have funded the mission, their loyalty to Shepard superseded his authority.

He mused. Shepard had already taken steps to make the Normandy independent of the Illusive Man's payroll. He watched as she picked up funding from various organizations and private industries, scouring the galaxy to complete private contracts and bounties independent of Cerberus interests. Garrus assumed that was why even Miranda, the token 'Cerberus Lapdog', was now working for Shepard - she no longer had to rely on the Illusive Man's protection and money. Shepard was very close to completely stripping the Normandy's dependence on Cerberus funds. With the rachni, krogan, quarians, and geth backing up her mission, what use was Cerberus's corrupt intel? At least, those were the thoughts that occupied Garrus's mind - providing Shepard would survive the Omega-4 Relay mission. There were no guarantees she would.

"She should be here now. We are scheduled to start in half an hour," Miranda stated out loud, breaking the tense small talk that helped disguise everyone's fears.

Tali'Zorah pressed her hands into the table's surface, her thick quarian dialect buzzing the air, "I have worked with Shepard longer than you and even I am forced to agree. I've never seen her spend so much time in her room. Usually when she sleeps or prepares, it is at the ship's helm. She avoids her private quarters unless absolutely necessary."

"Something we have in common," Garrus admitted, stepping away from the conference table as he acknowledged the crew's concerns.

"Shall I call on her?" EDI asked in monotone.

"No," The turian walked towards the exit, rolling his shoulders. "She hates indirect interruptions. It exhibits cowardice. I will go to her loft."

"That is a good idea," Kasumi answered. Garrus watched the thief in the corner of his eye, detecting a sly smile crossing her lips. He shook his head, choosing not to correct her assertions as he stepped outside the conference room.

"Hey Garrus," Joker yelled out from the pilot controls, his voice carrying over the empty bridge, "If you go upstairs, how about you like... NOT fight Shepard again? Or better yet, make sure she comes back as a human and NOT a turian. Face tattoos are one thing, turian sparring another, but I swear... every time you two spend time together, she comes back less human than before. And its getting confusing and stuff."

Vakarian rolled his eyes. He enjoyed rolling his eyes. The human language cue was satisfying, especially when responding to Joker's smart assery. "Sure. As long as you and EDI don't end up with mutant synthetic babies by the time I drag Shepard down here."

"That would be a burn, Jeff," EDI mused.

"Its an entirely platonic non-romantic mutually beneficial partnership we have going on!" Joker growled. "God... no offense, but as if I'd be able to fall in love with a holographic eyeball that talks..."

"None taken, Jeff. I also find your fleshy, organic matter highly unattractive. And, may I remind you, the holograph is merely an extension of myself. If I were to have an appearance, it would be the Normandy... I am the Normandy."

"Right," Jeff muttered. "Because making sweet sweet love to a ship is on my list of priorities right now."

"You said as much prior to releasing my security controls, if I do recall. And, you do have a fascination with spacecraft bordering on obsessi-"

Garrus immediately departed from the conversation, his eyes widened as he hit the elevator button. Spirits, ever since the crew's disappearance, those two had become stranger and stranger. He much preferred it when EDI and Joker were at odds. Working together, though...? Working together, those two had become a disturbingly close, and their combined pranks were beginning to grate his head.

Once inside the elevator, Vakarian pressed his back up into the wall and closed his eyes. Hundreds of years of advanced technology, and it still took longer to go up one floor on a damn elevator than it did to jump systems via the Omega relays. He flexed his wrists and cracked the joints in his neck, purring with satisfaction as the noise played staccato to the mechanical drum of the lift. He really didn't know what to expect. Shepard never invited him to her quarters, mostly because she was never there. She preferred to shower with the crew, sleep in the conference room, and work in a public atmosphere. He never understood this side of her, considering how private Shepard was, but assumed it was to keep an eye on a ship she was constantly suspicious of.

When the door opened into the private loft, his first reaction was a to rattle his teeth plates, admiring the space. Empty tanks of water decorated the side of the wall with an eerie blue glow. His eyes drifted from the untouched bed that had collected dust to the insane assortment of ship models framed over her desk. One of the models had been taken apart, it looked like the Destiny's Ascension, markings over the surface measuring distance from the command unit to the airlock. What was she planning...?

"What are you doing here?"

He turned abruptly, facing the private bathroom where an unfamiliar woman stood, grey eyes fixed on him aggressively.

She was dressed in a fashion unfamiliar to Garrus. Fishnet material clung to bare legs, a short denim skirt strapped with a utilitarian belt that had several knives hitched under the leather. Instead of a shirt, she wore a tight, black top - buckles and zippers giving the appearance of an asari commando unit's upper uniform. Her lips were a deep red, and she wore enough eyeliner that would turn Jack green with envy. Were it not for the customary turian tattoos that graced her face, Garrus would not recognize this person as Commander Jane Foucault Shepard.

"Do humans typically apply makeup before suicide missions?" Garrus mused out loud, tilting his head as he observed her.

"No. But the ritual reminds me who I am, where I came from, and the people I once stood for," Shepard replied smoothly, word for word repeating the conversation they shared days ago when he first painted her face.

Shepard adjusted her belt loop, an intimidating gaze fixed on Garrus, locking eyes as she remained emotionless. "When we went to the Citadel, Anderson gave me all of the possessions I left to him when I joined the Alliance. I thought he threw them away. Guess he knew one day I'd need them for sentimental purposes. Maybe the last chance I get to wear this crap. Wanted to remember what life was like before all this."

The commander turned to regard her appearance in the bathroom's mirror, raising her brow and watching her features steadily. She shifted her weight from right to left, pulling one of the knives from her belt, metal flashing as it reflected the overhead lights, "I'm earthborn. This used to be my armor."

"Ah," Garrus nodded, understanding only a little. Why was Shepard suddenly being so... open?

Foucault punched the air, her knife flashing briefly as it spun between her fingers, pushing the edge than the blunt in different directions as she spoke. "I was a slave. I ran away when I was ten, joined up as a duct rat for a few street gangs in Great Britain and then America. Surviving is an easy way to climb up the business ladder when the alternative is death. Moved from gang to gang, some smaller, others larger... mafia and yakuza related. I never had any specific loyalties, until the Yakuza asked me to kill a few loudmouth politicians. When they needed someone knocked out, I was the first one they called."

The woman made a motion to her clothes, one hand picking at the fishnet strapped to her legs. "This is how I used to dress, people usually don't suspect a sixteen year old brat in fishnet is about to kill them. It was also off putting. Did you know I dyed my hair blue, too?"

Vakarian shook his head, pressing his hip into the door frame as he politely listened.

"Dyed my hair all kinds of colors, actually," Foucault nodded, pulling out a butterfly knife and experimenting with tricks as she turned it between her fingers. "I taught myself how to read, I relished philosophy and history first and foremost. My friends were Rousseau, Voltaire, Ayn Rand, Nietzsche, and Michel Foucault. They gave me advice, warmed my loneliness, taught me that I wasn't going to be the same person tomorrow, that I was only who I was - a cold killer - for the present. People change. People are never the same person they are at any given moment. We are defined by the people that surround us. An upper class jackass might consider me a common thug... whereas a gang leader would consider me a valuable asset. I am a million different people. I am never simply one person. Hence, why I changed my hair constantly. Its also how I kept telling myself that what I did, killing people for gang politics, was forgivable."

Garrus blinked. A million different people? He couldn't help but wonder. Who was Shepard to him? And was this Shepard different compared to, oh say, the Shepard the alliance knows? Kaidan knows? Ashley knew?

She tossed the knife in the air and caught it by the hilt, flipping it closed and pocketing it, her gaze still fixed on the strange reflection. "You know... I met Anderson because I was assigned to assassinate him? He caught me. Only person who ever caught me. Broke my wrist, threw me on the ground. I told him he should just shoot me. If he wasn't going to, the Yakuza certainly would. He gave me a choice. He could throw me in jail, or I could enlist. Now, mind you, I can escape jail. I've done it before. I work in stealth. That would have been easy. But I still had my gang to worry about. They would kill me. Weakness is not tolerated. So... I joined the Alliance."

"He let you join... after you attempted to kill him?" Vakarian inquired in disbelief.

"There's more to it than that," Shepard mutters. "But the end result remains the same. He put me in the alliance."

Shepard ran her fingers through her hair, turning to regard Garrus fully as she continued her biography, "First thing I did was shave off my hair. It is relatively easy to disconnect with the past. I changed my name, too. At first it was Jane Doe just to be a smart ass, but Anderson said I shouldn't insult the last avenue willing to help me. So I was just Jane. My last name, Shepard...? That didn't come until after Torfan."

Garrus said very little beyond a gentle nod or a soft rattle that vibrated his chest. How many people knew this history? Probably the Shadow Broker. Perhaps the Illusive Man. Certainly Anderson. This confession was a rare glimpse into the mind of Commander Shepard. Jane was an enigma. Her credentials were one thing. The mind behind those credentials? Another entirely.

And she was revealing herself.

"Jane, why are you telling me this?" Vakarian had to ask, shifting his mandibles in mixed curiosity and dread.

Shepard grumbled incoherently, and simply ignored the question. The woman moved past Garrus and into her bedroom. She paused at the fish tank and sighed, pressing her forehead into the cool glass as her voice dropped.

"Torfan... was hard. The Batarian unit was entirely ruthless. They treat humans like fodder. No matter what the Alliance did, they couldn't quell the threat. So Anderson, knowing what I was capable of, called upon me to lead a special forces unit into the heart of Torfan. He made sure that my men and women had no family, no one to mourn them. He knew I probably wouldn't come out alive. It was, essentially, a suicide mission. My first of many, really. This could be my last, I guess. I don't see how the odds will be in our favor."

She paused then pulled away from the tank, fingers unbuckling the various straps and buttons that adorned the black leather top. Garrus watched with mixed curiosity and fascination as Shepard stripped off her clothing, revealing pale flesh decorated by the eerie glow of cybernetic scar tissue. Physically, humans are not attractive to turians. They lacked small waists, head fringes, or skin tones universally valued by his species, even between the subdivisions of turian culture. Garrus was no different.

He calmly observed Shepard as she threw off her boots, fishnet stockings, and small skirt. "Batarians do not exhibit respect and fear unless that species is absolutely ruthless, that is what the turian hierarchy suggests," Garrus added.

"It's true. If Batarians fear you, they leave you alone. In order to create fear, you need a reputation. A namesake. Something that can be a target for those fears. So I became the Butcher of Torfan."

The human turned, watching Garrus dangerously as he stepped towards the fish tank, mandibles relaxed and body exhibiting an aire of calm natural to his disposition. She stood there, completely naked, perhaps testing the stoic turian's reaction. Then, he realized why she stripped in front of him. His eyes widened, as they considered new tattoos that graced her body, typically hidden under the plates of her armor or colonial suit.

For some selfish reason, Vakarian assumed his face paint was the only tattoos Jack had inked on Shepard. This wasn't true.

He evaluated the elaborate purple sleeve inked around her arm, swirled lavender patterns reminding him of Tali's head dress. Over her right breast was the tribal etching of Clan Urdnot, four scratches emulating Wrex's scar over the center of the mark. On her wrist existed Liara T'Soni's signature. There were other marks along her lower back he didn't quite recognize, but assumed they may have had to do with Drell prayers. A small symbol of the Asari goddess bridged between her shoulder blades. Wrapped around her other wrist were the tattoos of dog tags, probably the late Ashley Williams. A massive thresher maw curved over her belly, looping around her breasts, open mouth snarling below her neck. There were more, the ink a decorating quilt of the many connections between her and others. Garrus looked at Shepard with new eyes, his expression softening as he watched her.

Sure. Garrus knew Shepard. But he only knew the Shepard that she allowed him to see.

Just who was Shepard to all these other people?

Who was Tali's Shepard? Was she as cold and calculative as the woman Garrus knew? How did Wrex see her? As a fellow clan member, honorary, or a traitor waiting to happen? Or Liara? Was Liara's Shepard just as flawed and impersonal as this woman was?

Just who was Shepard...? Who was the Shepard that Garrus knew?

"I sent good men and women to their deaths for this... psychological attack on the Batarians," Shepard sighed, pulling out her white N7 custom outfitted chest plate from her personal armory case. "I had to kill them. They knew this and still trusted me. All in the name of duty. It worked, you know... The batarians pulled out. Our slave labor isn't worth the risk of total annihilation However, they leaked what I had done to Earth's media, a tactic that they hoped would force me to resign."

The Commander puffed her cheeks unconsciously in frustration, shifting her head back. " Earth called me 'The bloody shepherd, guiding her flocks to their deaths'... 'Alliance shepherd treats crew like lambs to the slaughter'... I had become the Bloody Shepherdess, ruthless. I owned up to it. Fine. If you want to call me a shepherd, than I will be Jane Shepard. Anderson defended me, and I kept the name."

Jane slipped a sports bra on, then spandex shorts, effectively covering and supporting her figure, applying a fabric cream over her naked flesh to prevent her armor from chaffing. "And now, Garrus? Now it's happening again. Even the Illusive Man admitted the reason he brought me back to life was because the reapers fear me. I do not deny I take pleasure in this great challenge, but I do not know if I will survive this. Few wish to see that happen, and many would rather I die. I'm a terrible human, Garrus. I lack their compassion. I would watch whole races burn just for the pleasure of reapers falling, no one wants to support a psychopath like that."

A psychopath... Did she really think she was a psychopath? Is that really how she saw herself, really believed in?

Garrus knew better.

"I'll do it."

Shepard gazed in slight disorientation at these words, eyes widening as she assessed the turian in front of her. He watched her seriously, head lifted and hand pressed over his armor, where it rested against the N7 tattoo inked proudly between his breast plates. "Shepard, you are the only friend I've got left in this damn galaxy. I know what its like to be labeled, appreciated, and depreciated. To become someone else for the sake of survival. Don't do this alone, I will help you."

The woman pushed her weight back and turned her head, emitting a soft growl from her vocals. Garrus, in return, flexed his mandibles and exposed his teeth, trading her turian smile with his human one. "So Archangel wants to team up with Jane Shepard, butcher of Torfan, the bloody shepardess..."

The turian shrugged, maintaining his strange smile. "Well.. You are my partner."

Foucault suddenly laughed, the sound alien to his ears. He blinked, watching as she turned slightly red in the face with a hand over her mouth. She chuckled into her palm, the human's mascara running over the blue tattoos on her cheeks. There were tears her eyes. Deftly, she flicked them away, still smiling in her human way as she pressed both hands on his shoulders and regarded him warmly.

"Throw ourselves into the fire for the good of the galaxy? Its nice knowing someone will have my back this time. However, let me warn you, the only time you'll ever die on me is if I shoot you myself. Do you hear me?"

Garrus chortled, pushing his weight forward onto his toes as he gazed at her sidelong. "Likewise, if it comes to that."

Shepard gently punched him in the chest, grinning like an asari maiden as she pulled on the black breathing fabric over her figure, the tight netting shrinking to her skin and exposing the full mold of her muscles. "I see the crew sent you up here to drag me down to the meeting room, screaming and shouting. Go back and tell them I'm on my way, and if they have an issue with how I spend my time, they can take it up with me themselves."

Vakarian smiled, collecting Shepard's chest plate and offering it. She grabbed it, though Garrus didn't let go, staying her motion until her confused gaze matched his level one.

"If it is alright with you, Commander, I think I'd rather stay here and enjoy your company before we 'throw ourselves into the fire for the good of the galaxy'."

The woman nodded, matching his grin with a turian expression where she puffed her cheeks twice in rhythmic succession, taking her armor and clipping it onto her figure, "Very well, you can stay. I shouldn't be long."

Garrus nodded, leaning into the wall and crossing both arms across his chest as he mildly observed her, "So... Why is it that only human females and smaller sections of your male population choose to wear makeup? Do you humans really have such difficulty telling apart one another's genders and sexual preferences, that you need to temporarily mark it? Wouldn't it be easier to get tattoos?"

Shepard guffawed out loud, the rare noise of her laughter causing him to grin as he shifted his weight and quietly observed her, reading her expressions, her motions, this new level to her humanity. For as long as she was alive, Vakarian promised himself he would be her personal guardian angel. He would protect her secrets and her life under his shadow, as long as she would accept him. And as she spoke, the tattoos across her face shifting in ways similar to other turians, he admired her despite the distance between them.

There had been an ocean of broken spirits between them, and over the years, in that moment, Garrus knew he had finally mended the damage and created a bridge with a friend who was just as lonely and hurt as he was. Apart, they were weak. Together, they would be strong.

At least. That was Garrus's Shepard. Flawed as she might be, stranger that she was. She was still his partner.

_**- F I N .**_

* * *

**Author's Notes ::**

Alright, finished editing. Only a month and some change until ME3 comes out.

So I'm going to bide my time by writing more about this Shepard. She's a classy act.

**:: Older Comments ::**

_Faunts_  
Love the Doves. Whenever I listen to Kingdom of Rust, I always imagine two characters on a great journey who feel the need to keep their emotional walls up due to trust issues. But deep down inside, they really want to break those walls.

_Llucy_  
I appreciate your support! I wish there were more Renegade Shep fics out there, romantic included. I get all excited about the idea of a tough-as-nails harsh bitch whose walls slowly get niched away by warmer and willing characters.

_Drizzit101_  
Why thank you, and your support makes this story all the more worth writing :)

_WastedHeart_  
I appreciate this comment a lot. I love to read a lot of classic literature, particularly Dickens and the Bronte sisters. I also have a library of victorian & contemporary philosophers. Story telling through layers of analogy is incredibly fun. I probably have lost a lot of readers for this reason since its a pretty outdated system of writing, but I get stoked when there's that one person who PMs me saying 'You totally pulled that quote from Nietzsche. Nice.'

_Michole_  
Thank you very much. What goes unsaid in this fic, since it is written in the perspective of Garrus, is the bond Shepard has with the rest of the crew. While it isn't nearly as complex and nuanced as Garrus, there are moments Shepard has shared with the others that has gone unsaid since she is a very private person. I plan to explore Tali's perspective soon.

_Ryoko Metallium_  
Pretty damn sexy, right? That scene and the Headlock scene were probably my favorites to write.

_Candle in the Light_  
I PM'd you before, but I'll write here as well. This was perhaps one of the best comments I've ever received since writing here at , and that isn't said lightly (I've been here for ten years). There are a lot of really good Fem Shep fics out there, you just have to do some digging and peel through Favorite Stories that some good authors have pleasantly listed in their profile pages. Foucault's character is complex, and I imagine it may go hand in hand with the question of : 'Just WHY does a Renegade Shepard act so freaking ruthlessly?' I personally have a preference for neutral + renegade shep fics simply because I have seen a lot of authors tackle this question thoughtfully. Not at all speaking against Paragon Shepards, I find some of their stories just as fascinating and dark. I guess I'm not a fluff kind of girl. I'm a big fan of dark psychology and darker subplots.

_BlueIrish_  
I am SO glad you stuck through. I've lost a lot of readers simply because my Shepard is so harsh and hard to swallow, which in many ways goes against the way many people prefer to treat their own Shepards. We commonly seek out fic where we can 'place' our own Shepard into the fic. Kingdom of Rust almost makes this completely impossible, since Renegade!Fem is so rare in the fanbase. I know I've also stopped reading a lot of Paragon Shep fics for this very reason, because they don't match my darker sensibilities. But I really am glad you stuck through. You and other Paragon Shep readers make this worth it. Now go - Make a Renegade Shepard and play the full scope of the game! If you keep doing it with the mindset of '... This action is harsh, BUT the reason my Shepard is being ruthless is because her intentions are actually for the greater good...' it really does make the game that much more funny and complex.

_Bluesnyder_  
So are you going to create a Renegade character now... Hnnnnnnn? ;) Thank you, and I do appreciate this comment! Its true. Mass Effect's groundwork is SO open for interpretation. That's the brilliance of Bioware's writing.

_skywalker05_  
Puffing her cheek is akin to flexing a mandible. I figured since Shepard has been spending so much time with aliens (and preferring their company), its beginning to change the way she uses body language. I know that when I was working at a Korean restaurant, I noticed I started to adapt a lot of Korean customary language and habits within a few months. The same could be said of any culture.

_ZaeraDourden_  
I give Miranda a lot of shit, mostly because I'm not a big fan of how Bioware niched her down to plain fanservice (Everytime you get an ass shot from Miranda, take a drink! You'll get drunk within a few minutes). But she's a good character, good head on her shoulder. Though I disagree with a lot of her decisions.

_Heart of the Revolution_  
I understand the appeal of Paragon Shepard. My first playthrough was with Rousseau Shepard, a paragon through and through. But after watching a few youtube videos of Renegade Shepard, I realized that while she was pretty damn hardcore and a tough bullet to bite, ultimately her decisions were not completely evil. She does good, but with a different perspective. Working with the alien races has its merits, but the council itself comes across as far more racist (Look what they did to the quarians and the krogans) than humanity ever has. For a group that claims humanity is incredibly xenophobic, the council is pretty damn xenophobic themselves.

_Fallenleeves_  
I love Ghost in the Shell, and I can see where Bioware borrowed many elements from the sci fi classic. A special espionage unit out to maintain galactic order? Hnnn...

_MitisVenatrix_  
Indeed. I feel that the relationship Bioware gave us between Garrus & Shepard (Hell... Between ANY of the Romantic Interests, with exception of Liara, Kaiden, and Ashley) felt like a rushed one night stand. It was achieving sex for the sake of a cute cutscene. I hope ME3 tries something different, and returns to the universe's roots.

_Sensoo_  
I've ALWAYS been a HUGE fan of partnerships transcending sexual relationships. The tension and 'What if..?' leaves a lot to the imagination. It also makes it all the more exciting when two characters actually do exhibit subtle feelings towards one another, or have to sacrifice their happiness for the greater whole. There is something heartbreaking about it.

**:: More Recent Comments ::**

_Jack Fletch_  
I imagine she wouldn't have time to read in the special forces! Its why most of her reading took place before she was recruited. Though I suppose that wasn't very clear in the writing.

_Bagira Shadow_  
Corrected!

_Kasanra_  
It was an idea I pulled from another author. Over time, I've come to dislike 'humanizing' aliens. What makes aliens interesting is that they are... well... aliens. I always liked the idea of a human turning more alien, as opposed to an alien becoming more human.

_HarbingerKismet_  
My first playthrough was a paragon. Because I felt so bad punching people and being mean. But after getting comfortable, my canon Shepard will always be a renegade. Her lines are too damn funny to pass up! And yes, this Fic Shepard is very, very, very flawed. But I've found, good qualities often shine when you have nasty ones to compare them to.

_Zhar of Shadows_  
Gotta love Garrus. As for Shep, well... she's just a weirdo.

_Vertin_  
Thank you! Its fun to explore how much two characters AREN'T romantic, especially when there are so many romantic fics out there.

Shukumei-of-another-world  
Thank you very much!

LeoPenth67  
I went through and edited the fic. I tried correcting some of the issues. Its difficult, to be sure. And I love Miranda. Hated her my first playthrough. But I've come to really love that woman. She's very complex, and very lonely. And yes. The crew does interact with Shepard, in ways Garrus may never understand. Hell. They might see her in a light completely different than Garrus does. Tali may see her as this heroic paragon of justice who could do no wrong, while Garrus sees her as a vulnerable person with a diamond hard exterior. All in the eye of the beholder.**  
**

Phew...

Thank you, and I look forward to writing more stories with Jane 'Foucault' Shepard. Keep your eyes open.


End file.
